


Lost and Found

by Anuna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy, a single father and a Curse Breaker employed at Ministry of Magic wants few things from his life. He mostly wants to be left alone. However, his work, his reputation and his mother's schemes are to prevent him from being left alone as he wishes. Working with Hermione Granger doesn't help much either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiHnn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/gifts).



> Author's notes: dear story recipient, I hope this is the story you wanted to read. I know it appeared in my head as soon as I've seen your prompt. It turned out quite bigger than I originally planned. I enjoyed immensely working on it, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. A huge, very special thank you for my beta reader fade2red, who is all kinds of superawesome. 
> 
> Author notes part deux: I referenced the film “Kingdom of Heaven” several times through the story. I recommend watching, because it's a good film, but it's not essential for the understanding of the fic. I also referenced the true story of the loneliest whale on Earth (if you're interested to read about it, googling “the lonely whale” will take you to one of many articles about this.) Finally, I apologize to everyone who likes Anthony Goldstein, because I made him somewhat of a bad guy here.

 

 

*

 

 _“You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied.”_ \- Charles Warnke

 

 

 

 _“A king may move a man, a father may claim a son, but that man can also move himself, and only then does that man truly begin his own game.”_ \- Kingdom of Heaven

 

*

 

 

**_Part One_ **

 

Draco had just finished paying for the Daily Prophet when someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Unsolicited and unannounced physical contact always made him flinch. It was a reflexive reaction based on years of various unpleasant experiences. Quite unwarranted, he realized as he turned around. The woman standing in front of him reminded him slightly of McGonagall, but her smile was considerably softer. However, he wouldn't be surprised if she called him “young man” in that tone only teachers achieved.

 

“I assume this is yours, sir?” she said instead, looking down and in front of her. Draco followed her gaze, where he met the twinkling eyes of his rather adventurous progeny.

 

“Ah,” Draco raised his eyebrow at Scorpius, aged barely six, who apparently wasn't buying his father's stern look. “Yes, that would be mine,” he said, looking at the kindly smiling woman.

 

“I found him by the magical pet store. I assume he likes to wander away?” she asked.

 

“Mildly put,” he answered, in mostly amiable tone, to which the woman nodded. He looked down at his son, raising eyebrows. “Scorpius,” he used the boy's full name, which meant he was very serious. This boy had him wrapped around his finger, it was true, but there were some things Draco would never not treat seriously. “What did I say?”

 

The boy's smile deflated, but only a fraction. Seriously, this child might look like him, but he was too cheery for a sombre and often morose Malfoy gene pool. He was so _carefree_ – something Draco never was, not even when he was this age. At times his son would catch him frowning at whatever thought inside of his head, run up to him and tell him to cheer up.

 

“That I should stay close to you, hold your hand and not wander away,” Scorpius recited, following it with, “But I saw puppies!”

 

“Ah,” Draco sighed, crouching down to the eye level of his son. “Of course,” he still kept his tone stern. The woman patted Scorpius on the shoulder. “I fear it's a matter of day when I'll be going to Lost and Found store to look for you, would I?” Draco did his best to show how serious he was, but he couldn't channel the seriousness of his own father. He didn't want to be like Lucius, but Scorpius wandering away, simply because he'd seen something interesting was among his greatest fears.

 

“I am sorry, daddy.”

 

And there went his fatherly anger.

 

“Next time be more careful, all right?” Scorpius nodded. The woman who found him stood beside them, smiling at the entire exchange between the two. “Now say thank you,” Draco instructed as he took his son's hand. Scorpius was an obedient boy with truly good manners. Draco insisted on those, but the boy had more enjoyable nature than his father. Everything pleasant about him came from his mother, and Draco felt he was showing off something he wasn't truly responsible for. If this child had his temper, he would never be this manageable. Scorpius looked up at the woman and smiled like a Hufflepuff.

 

“Thank you,” he said and added, “Bye – bye,” with a wave of his hand. The woman waved at him and went the other way, and Draco silently thanked every single deity he knew and didn't know of for her kindness, and then picked Scorpius up.

 

“You, young man, are incredibly heavy. What are they feeding you?” he said. Scorpius giggled, as Draco started walking briskly towards the Ministry entrance. “On a more serious note, son, you really scared your father. What did I tell you about wandering away?”

 

“That it's dangerous and I shouldn't do it,” Scorpius was turning less charming and more anxious.

 

“And you shouldn't,” Draco affirmed. There were three completely frightening occasions when he couldn't locate his son for several hours, and he was certain that those hours have cost him his health. “I know you wanted to see the puppies, but you should not have gone all by yourself. Okay?”

 

The boy nodded solemnly. “Okay,” he said quietly.

 

“We're here,” Draco put him down in front of a phone box, which was a new entry into the building, designed for parents with children. Recently, more employees expressed the need for a Ministry based daycare. Even if the amount of work was steadily growing, a more sinister fact lay behind this, and Draco was grimly aware of it – after the war the number of single parent families had grown due to so many lives lost. His own son had only one parent, but that wasn't due to the war. Draco often thought that it would have been far better if Scorpius had grown up with Astoria instead. She was kind, she wanted to be a mother, but the fate had denied that experience so thoroughly. She never even got to hold their child.  _It happens rarely,_ _Mister Malfoy, but it happens_. He never heard of aneurysms before. He didn't know something so small and void of any magic could kill you instantly.

 

Draco had a nanny for Scorpius, or at least he used to have one, but Mrs Roberts now had an ill husband to attend to. He didn't want to leave the boy with Astoria's mother, who was overbearing and not really a familiar figure in boy's life, and his parents were out of the question. Three hour visit every weekend was a suitable dose of brooding Lucius Malfoy for Draco's son. Ministry daycare would have to do.

 

And that was where two of them were right now. The room they entered was spacious and warm, and certainly appealed to Scorpius instantly. Draco saw the unmistakable spark of interest lighting up boy's eyes when they walked inside.

 

“Wow,” he said. Draco crouched again, straightening his son's jacket. Over the last six years he had acquired a collection of mother hen gestures which would make his own father twitch.

 

“Here we are, Scorp,” he said, wondering if, by any chance, he was more anxious about leaving the boy here, than Scorpius himself was. The boy had hundred – and  - something questions about the daycare once Draco told him he would have to go there, which were part anxiety, part curiosity. But right now, he seemed too delighted with multitude of toys and sight of other children there.

 

“Dad, this is _brilliant_ ,” he said.

 

“Is that so?” Draco asked, amused.

 

Scorpius nodded excitedly. Draco could see Hannah Abbot in the corner, and he acknowledged her with a nod. She was walking toward them, and she remained few steps away, probably to allow Draco to say goodbye to Scorpius.

 

“Positive,” Scorpius flashed him a smile.

 

“Good, then. I can rest assured that you won't wander away from here?”

 

There was a resolute head - shake.

 

“I expect you to be well behaved young man,” Draco said seriously.

 

“Yes daddy,” Scorpius replied with equal seriousness. Draco stood up then, addressing his former school colleague.

 

“This is Miss Hannah,” Draco said to Scorpius. “I expect you to behave well for her, Scorp,” he looked at Hannah who seemed just a bit guarded. Abbott was a Hufflepuff in school, which meant Draco despised her house quite a lot. The never really spoke back then, but these were different times. “Abbott,” Draco said briefly.

 

“Malfoy,” she greeted, not looking at him longer than truly necessary. Then she turned her attention to the boy, who was thankfully oblivious to most of his father's past. “And you must be Scorpius!”

 

“Yes,” the kid was sunshine and roses.

 

“I think your daddy needs to go to his office now,” Abbott said. “I assume you will stay and keep us company while daddy's busy, right?” she said, and with that Scorpius easily parted from Draco and followed Hannah Abbott toward the group of children who were already there.

 

Draco allowed himself only a few moments to watch this and then forced himself to leave. There was something his mother was correct about when she said each goodbye will be easier on the boy. With that unsettling thought Draco found his way to the elevators, feeling much older than thirty two.

 

In the meantime, a little red haired girl, bit younger than Draco's son walked over to Scorpius, smiled and said hello. Scorpius Malfoy, cheerful and friendly, smiled in return and learned that the little girl’s name was Rose.

 

*

 

Hermione closed her eyes in futile attempt to hold off a headache. She knew the voice that neared the door, the clipped and agitated speech, the very rhythm of footsteps coming closer to the office door. Surely, she had made someone very pissed, and this was karma's way of paying her back. Working with Draco Malfoy, despite the fact that he hadchanged considerably, still felt like a punishment.

 

As a fun addition, it seemed that Anthony Goldstein was after Draco yet again, another thing she was still puzzling over. Judging by their interactions, their conflict didn't begun only recently.

 

“... and I told you already, Goldstein, there was _nothing_ to be done. Until it bloody happened! The Aurors didn't make any mistakes, and _I certainly hadn't made one either._  It was unpredictable! Do you even know what that means? -”

 

Hermione sighed, counting to three at which point the door opened. Draco walked inside, his body rigid with control, followed by Anthony Goldstein, whom Hermione was steadily beginning to dislike. She didn't understand why he was so zealously after Draco. She suspected it had something to do with Draco's initial transfer from Gringotts, but she hadn't know for certain. Ever since Draco transferred, he proved to be useful and also competent in whatever he was tasked to do. She didn't like Draco, but she had begun to appreciate him through everything he was doing, a curse breaker with unparalleled knowledge of Dark Arts. For some reason Anthony didn't feel the same way, and that was fine, as long as it didn't disturb her current work. She was set on seeing this project succeed, and by the way things looked right now, Anthony Goldstein was beginning to undermine her work. He was on too many boards, he insisted on reviews, reports, insight in Malfoy's work. He was after something that couldn't be found, until that Auror raid several weeks ago.

 

“Malfoy, three people were seriously injured there. A simple curse breaking would have prevented that, wouldn't it? And you keep repeating there's a reason why we _enlisted_ curse breakers in the first place -”

 

Draco's face was falsely calm. Only his eyes indicated the true state he was in.

 

“And trust me, Goldstein, I know more about curses and dark magic than you could fucking _dream_ of. I have no fucking problem breaking the goddamn curses or bringing down nasty wards, and Merlin knows there's enough of them left over from the bloody war,” Draco took off his coat, after he slammed a stack of parchments on his desk. Hermione looked up from her work. This was their third row this week.  Draco was ready to end the conversation with Anthony, but the latter didn't seem willing to leave just yet. “If you'd excuse me now Goldstein -”

 

Anthony gave Draco a poisonous look, at which the Draco didn't even flinch.

 

“Don't think this is over. You might believe Potter's got your ass, but I'm not sure I trust you,” Anthony said. .

 

Draco snorted. “Did you finally buck up to say what you really think -”

 

“There are kids who might have been orphaned that day, Malfoy -”

 

Hermione got up, noticing how Draco's entire demeanour.

 

“Enough,” Hermione raised her voice over theirs. Anthony looked up and then at her, as if he finally remembered she was even there. “I don't want to listen to this anymore, Anthony,” she said, and Goldstein gave her a look full of unpleasant things. “If you need to settle this matter, then I suggest you do it in a meeting with the Aurors that were present at the accident,” she said. It had taken him  a short time to come up with a retort.

 

“Are you taking his side here?”

 

Now she was becoming angry. “Whose _side_? I thought we were all _on the same side_ ,” she replied, putting an emphasize on the last few words. Some things never died, no matter how much time had passed or what happened in between. Goldstein's gaze turned cold and frustrated, and then he finally walked out.

 

Draco let out a slow breath before he went to settle behind his desk. Hermione kept looking at him intently, until he finally addressed her after a few minutes.

 

“What?”

 

“I am getting tired of that,” she said, intent to hold him accountable. She didn't have a problem backing him up, but something about entire situation didn't feel right. Draco she knew from school wouldn't let something like this slide.

 

“Too bad for you, Granger. On a second thought, why are you complaining?” he asked, turning his attention to the stack in front of him. “One would think the lot of you would be happy because that bleeding idiot finally put me where I belong. Behind a desk,” Draco said sarcastically.

 

No, this wasn't the Draco she knew from school. Not any more. Hermione remembered clearly the distinction between the arrogant boy and unwilling Death Eater at the sixth year. Draco was always taller than her, and she had to look up to look him in the eye. During the sixth year it seemed he was shrinking, growing into himself with tightly contained misery. She assumed he felt that way. The man in her office sometimes reminded her of a dry, knotted rope twisted too many times. Part of her wanted to unravel this mystery, but there were no books that could grant an insight into the closed private space behind Draco's words. Ever since assignment rotations had landed him here, he was a puzzle that her analytical mind was trying to decipher. Her success was limited.

 

“Seriously, Malfoy, I was hoping Harry was right when he said you grew out of that obnoxious mentality you had at school,” she said, dividing the papers and parchments in front of her into several neat piles.

 

“And I suppose I was right when I doubted you had changed in the slightest,” he shot back in a heartbeat. This was the boy she remembered, opinionated, arrogant and impatient; and for some reason she preferred him to the man who seemed older than his age.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked. Even if she felt bad for him, in some aspects, she would not let him get an easy way out, if he challenged her. This was why working with him was a hard task. He had an ability to turn every conversation into an argument.

 

“Can you not impart the judgement on everyone and everything around you for a bloody second?”

 

“And can you not assume you know what everyone thinks about you? Merlin! You just went and assumed what I was going to say!”

 

“Oh, do tell me you're happy that they transferred _me_ , of all people, here,” he challenged, arching an eyebrow at her. She met his stare steadily, sensing that there was more behind his words. Sometimes he reminded her of someone who wanted to be punished.

 

“I wasn't happy, but I was ready to work with you, Malfoy,” she replied sharply, but maintaining her calm. His eyes defied her, but the principle of Hermione was fairness. She would not be provoked. “And I do trust Harry's judgement. I always have, and I always will.”

 

“How very Gryffindor of you,” he said, quiet and almost malicious.

 

“Merlin and Morgana! Are you going to gain house points? Are we still in a third year? ”

 

“Are you saying you want to take another swing at me?”

 

He had to possess longest memory _ever._

 

“I _could_ do that, Malfoy,” she assured.

 

“You could do what?” Harry's voice came from the door. Hermione turned around and met his familiar face. Safe and familiar things splashed over her, mixing with the fact that he was still a walking reminder of her loss. _Their_ loss.

 

“Oh bloody hell,” Draco rolled his eyes dramatically, but Hermione could sense a shift in his frustration as he looked at Harry; as if Harry was capable of reining him in.

 

“Hello Harry,” Hermione offered a smile. “Something we could do for you today, before we head out?”

 

Harry's stance was casual, yet not too comfortable. He looked from one at another like he was weighing options which were known to him alone. “I just wanted to make sure nobody hexed anyone else,” he smirked. “They could hear you yelling up on the third floor, you know.”

 

“You are just so wonderfully subtle, Potter,” Draco said and gave him a glare, but it wasn't like it used to be. They had mutually reached a cease fire, which transformed into a reluctant understanding. “Came to rub in some salt?”

 

“Malfoy, you've got to _calm down_. I know how annoying Goldstein is, believe me, but you've got to let this drop,” Harry crossed his arms and looked at him as if he were a particularly stubborn little child. “For Merlin's sake, ignore him and let me deal with him in my own way.”

 

“And what should I do until then? Walk around with Granger, pretending to hold her purse while she makes visits on empty households?”

 

Harry gave him a half hearted glare. Hermione watched them going on about this for couple of weeks now; Malfoy with his best attempts to provoke Harry, who was trying to convince Draco that something wasn't his fault. It was as if Harry had some kind of insight she was lacking.

 

“You're gonna keep your mouth shut and let me deal with Goldstein, because it was _me_ who sent you there.”

 

“And it was _me_ who was responsible for those three, remember?”

 

They went on and on and on. Sometimes it felt like they were talking about something else entirely, Draco being his own persecutor, and Harry becoming his defence.

 

“And like you've said so many times over, nothing could be done until the curse was activated. _And I agree with you._ We both know how that works, Malfoy. You can't protect everyone, every time,” Harry said firmly. Hermione mentally agreed with Harry, but Draco's behaviour tickled her curiosity. Experiences could change a person; time, years, doubts and guilt. But to what extent?

 

When it came to Draco, it was difficult to judge the quality of this change. Was he feeling guilty of someone else's predicament? He wasn't a type of person who would discuss private matters, ever, but he was different. The jury was still out on the matter of new Draco, but she would be true to herself and give him a chance.

 

“Thank you, doctor Freud,” Draco replied to Harry. Muggle references were new. They were also accurate. To someone else it might have been a detail. To Hermione it was more like a sign written in a foreign language she had yet to learn. “If you don't mind, Granger, I'll wait for you outside, until you're ready to go and check out that suspicious property they've found.”

 

Hermione exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding after Draco had walked out. Harry gave her a look in which a plea was badly concealed with sympathy, and something about that annoyed her. She wanted an explanation.

 

“Tell me, Harry. Why isn't he at Gringotts any more?”

 

“Because we need him more than they do,” Harry said. It was an answer Hermione knew and didn't want to hear. Why him? Why Draco Malfoy? Was it because he'd seen darkness up close, in a way most other people working here haven't? What singled him out?  There were still Death Eaters on the run, yes and curse breakers weren't just magical archaeologists any more, they were a necessity. They’ve become the people who got hurt first during the raids. Some people viewed them as a welcome support, a good addition to Auror teams. A group of officials, Anthony Goldstein included, were strongly opposed to them.

 

“Right,” she sighed. She didn’t buy Anthony’s arguments, because there was too much politics behind that for her liking; but she didn’t find Harry’s words any more convincing.

 

“I am doing everything I can,” Harry offered quickly. “You might not believe me, but I really want him back on my team.”

 

Hermione looked at her friend for a couple of moments, thinking about this. There was something between Harry and Draco, something she couldn't grasp and hold between her fingers. It always slipped away. What could happen between them, to solidify this unlikely bond? Weren't they something of a mutual punishment to each other?

 

“Why?” she opted for a less direct version of the question that bothered her. “What makes him different than the others?”

 

Harry regarded her thoughtfully, thoughts and notions locked behind his gaze.

 

“His motivation,” he said finally. This didn't answer anything; besides, Hermione wasn't used to this, Harry keeping secrets from her. Not with Ron gone. Where did her safe place disappear to? In whom she would confide? When Harry reached the door he turned around. “Will we see you and Rose this evening?”

 

 _We_ , as in Harry, Ginny, James and Albus. The future which Ron would never see, never witness to. Hermione nodded, steeling herself against these thoughts.

 

“It's nice of you to invite us,” she said.

 

Harry smiled somewhat sadly. He was, possibly, doing his best not to remember. But how could he not? This was the saddest month of the entire year, the month when Ron was born, and the month when he died. Four years. Had it really been that long? Could it be? Hermione examined the void in her heart, like feeling a scar with uncertain fingers. It was there, and it felt mostly numb; the living flesh of her being that was once able to feel.

 

“Can't wait to see Rose,” Harry replied.

 

“She's excited,” Hermione answered, feeling the familiar sadness creeping all over her insides. It was impossible to prevent it. She had learned how not to drown, she had to, like she learned from books, like she perfected her spells and faced the dangers. She gave it all.

 

“See you,” Harry's goodbye was quiet.

 

“See you, Harry,” she whispered to the silence and said a quiet thanks for everything she had left, every bit of her broken world. Broken or not, it was still there. And she had to move on. There was still so much to do. It was still not safe around them.

 

She took a minute to compose her thoughts, concentrating to the task at hand. Malfoy waited for her not too far away from the office door. Her project was their project now – _Safe removal of dangerous artefacts and inspection of households,_ a clinical name for cleaning up magical minefields and looking for clues and fugitives. She glanced at him, pushing her thoughts far to the back of her mind.

 

“Let's go,” she said, and he promptly followed, his face impassive and expressionless.

 

 

*

 

 

**_Part Two_ **

 

“Not so fast, Granger,” Draco shoved her aside and positioned himself between the door and her prying eyes. She frowned at his back. No matter how many times he did exactly this during the previous two months, she still wanted to punch him every time.

 

“Seriously, Malfoy?”

 

“Seriously, Granger. This is why I am here,” he was standing still, wand in his hand, carefully scanning his surroundings. She didn't hear him say any sort of spell, he just stood still. In her opinion the situation didn't warrant such dramatic approach, yet he did it every time.

 

“And I am completely capable of discovering dark magic booby traps,” she pointed out, almost amused how seriously he was taking himself. Hermione was naturally cautious, but the reports they received said that an Auror team had already checked this place out and cleared it for their access. The wards were brought down, the rooms were safe for walking through.

 

“Truly commendable,” Draco still wasn't moving. Hermione had learned just how stubborn he was capable of being, and decided to let him have it his way this time around. Was she giving in? Softening? No, probably not. They were still having plenty of arguments. She was in no particular hurry to go back to the office this time around, and she decided to indulge his sense of importance. That bit about him didn't change. “It also makes you smarter than most Aurors I’ve had the displeasure to meet.”

 

Her mind did a quick double take. She wanted to make entire mood lighter, though.

 

“Did you just give me a compliment, Malfoy?” she asked.

 

He turned around, his face completely blank. “You must have hallucinated, Granger. Perhaps you're under influence of dark magic?” his eyebrow rose elegantly.

 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” she said, but smirked nonetheless. He observed the entrance to the house, which looked long abandoned. Finally, he muttered a complicated string of spells, after which nothing remarkable happened.  Draco entered carefully, still not trusting the harmless looking house.

 

“After me, Granger. Slowly,” he instructed.

 

“Are you getting a kick out of bossing me around?”

 

“I'm entitled,” he said, completely alert and tuned into the space around him. He looked like he was hunting for a prey. “And again, it's my duty. I'm not trying to find out what it's like to be you,” he paused, then continued in slightly lighter tone. “Supposedly the brightest witch of our age? I didn't expect you to be so dense... oh wait. You're a Gryffindor.”

 

“I can see you're the biggest prat of any age,” she replied, not truly offended, walking behind him. After a full two months of working with him, Hermione had seen several situations where Draco's skills and instincts proved themselves useful. Allowing him to walk in first meant she was giving him credit for his part of the job.

 

“I'm a natural,” he said, stopping abruptly as they entered a large, half ransacked room. “My, my. Looks like our Auror friends threw a party. Wanna bet they didn't invite the curse breakers?”

 

“You're really classy.”

 

“I know,” she was about to walk deeper into the room when he extended his arm and blocked her advance. He was doing his duty, but God, did he sometimes get on her every single nerve. “Wait.”

 

“Malfoy, is this really the time for your knight – in  - the -shiny – armour -?”

 

“Just call it a hunch,” he said, a bit pompous, walking slowly towards a big wooden cabinet in the far corner of the room. It creaked as if it had sensed someone approaching. That, generally, wasn't a good sign. Draco turned around with an amused expression. She concluded that the situation wasn't truly dangerous. If an Auror team had missed something pretty obvious, it was certain Draco was going to have a field day with it. She was tired of petty wars between departments, but Draco did have a point. He was basically trying to show that these problems needed a combined effort, which she agreed with; only Draco chose to do it in the most annoying way possible. It was only too bad that people like Anthony Goldstein were willing to fight these little wars. “Granger,” Draco begun. “Can you think of anyone who keeps a boggart as a pet?”

 

“Walburga Black?” That was the first thing that crossed her mind as she remembered the dark and gloomy Grimmauld's place. She never liked the house. It was like those books in Restricted Section which she needed for the knowledge that made her skin crawl.

 

“Ha ha,” he said. He was in a good mood. “I'll take it's simply a matter of coincidence that you chose my great aunt.” The cupboard started shaking slightly, like something locked inside was trying to get out. “Not funny, though. Do you prefer getting rid of it now?”

 

“It can wait,” she decided after brief thinking. Facing a boggart could be a tricky experience. Capable colleague or not, Hermione didn't want Draco to witness her greatest fears taking physical shape. “If someone has a pet boggart in their library, they probably have more nasty stuff lying around,” she mused aloud.

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “Which is why I wouldn't touch anything. The Aurors have done an awesome job here, obviously.”

 

No, she was not in favour of department battles, but Draco's amusement was, perhaps, rubbing off on her and she allowed it.

 

“Do not forget to inform Goldstein,” she smirked. Draco arched his eyebrows, slightly surprised. Anthony was being unfair. Not that she'd say any of it out loud, because Draco could choose a more mature approach.

 

“Oh, I won't forget it. You can count on that,” he said.

 

 

 

*

 

Hermione could tell something wasn't quite right when Hannah approached her before Hermione was able to enter the common room of the daycare. Red in the face and clutching one hand in the other, Hermione's former school colleague seemed to have lost her calm demeanour.

 

“Hannah,” Hermione greeted, not buying the forced, too cheery smile. “What happened?”

 

“Well, I thought you should know before you see Rose. She's a bit upset right now.”

 

“Hannah,” the words 'Rose' and 'upset' were not the best combination Hermione could think of. Hannah started to talk about some boy that came into the group three weeks ago, whom Rose befriended, and today few other children were, obviously, giving this new little one trouble. Not just any kind of trouble. Hannah mentioned some words that Hermione didn't want to hear around here, words like Death Eater. It finally ended with Rose defending her new friend.

 

“And who is this new boy?” Hermione asked.

 

Hannah hesitated before she answered. It served to make Hermione more worried.

 

“Scorpius Malfoy.”

 

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione hurried inside before Hannah was able to explain any further. She smiled briefly to Hannah, though, hoping the other woman would realize that Hermione wasn't upset at her _._

 

Hermione knew that there were many children in the daycare, that Hannah and everyone else who worked there couldn't keep an eye on every single child in every single moment. That fights happened, that children repeated what they heard at home. That was how things were learned, beliefs taught; that was the mechanism that turned Draco Malfoy into a prejudiced little racist who boarded the Hogwarts boat and despised Ron even before knowing him. Didn't the parents of the children here know they were doing the same? Teaching their children the same injustice in their new, supposedly better world?  Things like these were the ones she was finding impossible to tolerate. She taught Rose not to tolerate them, and the girl obviously didn't.

 

Hermione didn't know that Malfoy had brought his son here – several weeks ago? Didn't he have a nanny for the boy? She didn't mind at all that her daughter had, obviously, befriended the boy. Rose had met Draco several times, and he was just another person mummy worked with. That was all. She didn't need to know their history. It was the past. It needed to be. Perhaps she was overreacting, but after three days of Anthony Goldstein making repeated accusations against Draco, and coming to their office, this was a bit too much.

 

So Hermione walked inside, quickly, and found her daughter, who had her mother's intelligence and her father's temper, sitting next to a blond boy, and apart from the other children. It was a little too quiet in here.

 

Her little girl and Draco's son were huddled above a colouring book, talking quietly. Rose was a bit smaller, but judging by her mannerisms she was probably telling Scorpius just how he was supposed to colour the drawing in front of him. The boy seemed to cooperate, contently wrapped up in their little world. They looked like an echo of her school years, of friendship she had with Harry and Ron. It seemed ironical.  Ron always said he wanted Rose to be like her mother. And there she was, picking friends on her own. Hermione pushed away the sadness. Rose looked protective, glancing at a boy not too far away from Scorpius and her. The look was unmistakable, I – am – angry – with – you Ron – glare.  Then, it seemed just on cue, Rose looked up.

 

“Mum!”

 

After that it was pointless to keep standing there, even if she felt a little awkward. She smiled, and when she approached the small table, two children smiled back at her.

 

“Mum! This is Scorpius,” Rose said enthusiastically when Hermione crouched down.

 

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, adding an extra shine to her smile. “Hello, Scorpius.”

 

“Hello, Rosie's mum,” he had Draco's face and a kind of smile she never saw on Draco. He was instantly likeable because of the way he smiled and absorbed the other person and the benevolent curiosity shining from his features.

 

“You can call me Hermione,” she said. “What have you two got here?” she asked, observing both of them. Even though they were smiling for her, Hermione could see the tell tale signs, the puffy red eyes and the way Rose looked around the room.

 

“A dragon,” Rose said, pointing to a dragon on her side of the colouring book. “You know, like the one uncle Charlie showed me on his photos!”

 

“Oooh, right,” Hermione answered. It was a rainbow coloured dragon that lacked fire. There were  an awful lot of flowers added to the original pictures, all exploding in colours. “And you?”

 

“A puppy,” the boy said. His smile was a fraction smaller, indicating his discontent state of mind. “Just like the one I saw few days ago.”

 

“Oh, really?” this needed to be played up a bit. Something nice and happy, to distract him. You could do that with children, most of the time. They allowed to be comforted if you showed enough kindness. “Where did you see it?”

 

“In a shop, in a Diagon alley. I wandered away and daddy got upset with me, you know,” his smile deflated a bit further. “Daddy said I made him very worried. Do you know my daddy?”

 

To Hermione that felt like an important question. Rose was giving her an expectant look.

 

“Why, yes, I do know him,” Hermione's smile was assuring, like she was talking about her favourite colleague. This little boy was in no way guilty of anything his father did or didn't do, and judging by his eyes, he had already cried today. “We went to school together. And we work together. In the same office,” she said. It seemed enough for him, though, a solid indication that not the entire world judged his father. Scorpius looked at Rose then, and she gave him a told-you-so look. At that moment Hermione noticed a familiar figure approaching – Draco's face seemed calm, except for his eyes. She looked at him, held his look like you would hold a rope, and nodded slowly, trying to tell him to stay calm. She had no idea if he would comprehend.

 

“Look who's there,” she smiled after she tapped Scorpius on the shoulder. The boy turned around and all the sadness was gone when he saw Draco. Then he ran, like all children run to their parents, meeting an embrace to end a poor day.

 

It was a scene she had yet to process properly – right now she was simply struck with the realization that she never saw Draco Malfoy as a _parent,_ a father who absorbed all sadness inside of his arms and lifted his son from the ground and away from everything unkind. She knew many of his faces, but this one was completely new, in discordance to everything she knew about him. Hermione looked at her mini self.

 

“Mummy, I have _so_ many things to tell you,” she said.

 

“Really darling?”

 

“Yes,” a serious nod confirmed that. So serious, like I – can't - believe – you – haven't – read - Hogwarts: A History. She picked up Rose and walked towards Draco and his son.

 

“Bye, Scorp. See you tomorrow,” Rose said to her friend, and Hermione met Draco's eyes. She wondered how many walls he had pulled up, seeming much more distant than when they were at work.

 

“Granger,” he greeted, looking at her daughter. “And Rose, right?” It felt odd. The old Draco would simply ignore everything tied to her or Ron, pretending to be above it all. This man seemed to stand firmly on the ground before her.

 

Rose nodded, studying Draco with open interest. It felt so strange; to stand there and watch him hold his son in the same way she held Rose. It was hard to imagine he could feel the same things she did and have nobody to talk to when decisions had to be made.

 

“Malfoy,” Hermione answered, keeping her tone amiable. “Scorpius,” she added. His smile grew even wider, because he was feeling safe now. “See you both tomorrow?” she offered, needing to finish this on a positive note. Draco's defensiveness rattled her sometimes. He could from neutral to defensive or distant in matter of moments. She didn't like him, per se, but she wasn't against him. She didn't consider him enemy for a long time now. The attitude he was displaying, the distance he had put up between himself and everyone else was just striking, but in the light of what happened to his son today, it wasn’t surprising. And that was a sad thing.

 

“See you tomorrow, Granger,” Draco said, shifting the boy onto his hip. The gesture solidified a realization in her mind. He was a parent _,_ in the same defining sense she was. It was there, in the shift of his hands and the way he held Scorpius, something completely new and unseen. She lingered for a moment longer, taking in this realization. Rose waved her friend goodbye. Hermione didn't say anything more, but the image of Draco with his son in his arms stayed with her for a long time.

 

 

*

 

 

**_Part Three_ **

 

 

“Daddy?”

 

“Yes, Scorp?”

 

“Why were you upset with Nana?”

 

Gracious Merlin. Draco sighed counted to three before even beginning to answer. Where did this child find that brain of his? He rarely asked easy questions.

 

Draco knew that this conversation was bound to happen. His mother had started a "find - a – spouse – for - Draco" campaign two years ago, but everything had gotten a serious tone  in past few months. Draco couldn't explain to her that he was feeling _fine_ like he was, and frankly, he didn't mind being unmarried. He wasn't looking for romance, he wasn't roaming the world lonely and heartbroken, and by all means, there already was a heir to family name. Narcissa wasn't giving up, though, insisting that she would find a suiting wife for her son. Just like she did the first time around, _and look how wonderfully matched you were_. Draco exchanged several not too pleasant words with his mother after he found out that she had arranged a family dinner for Wednesday evening, with a suiting candidate attending.

 

 

“Daddy?” Scorpius was looking up at him with a frown.

 

“What is it, son?”

 

“Why won't you answer me?”

 

“It's a little bit complicated,” he started. There was a big portrait of Astoria in Draco's study. It was magical, which meant Scorpius knew how his mother had smiled. He could hear her voice – or at least the magical echo of it, captured on a painting. He'd grown up knowing that he had a mother, and that she loved him. One couldn't simply put a new one in an empty slot, much like one couldn't find a person to fill out an empty spot of a wife. “I'll answer you,” Draco was serious, as his son looked at him with expectation. “Nana was asking me if I would get married again,” he said, and the boy frowned.

 

“Are you going to?” he asked curiously. Draco noted he wasn't looking upset by this, just merely curious, like he was about most new things.

 

“I don't know,” Draco answered. Which was the truth. He didn't know. He wasn't planning to at all.

 

“But why was Nana so upset with you? And you with her?” the boy asked further.

 

“Well. Nana thinks I should get married, and she would like to help me along.” Mildly put. Narcissa already had a list of available and suiting women. “And well, I didn't want her to do that. That's why we were upset with each other.”

 

Draco could tell that his son was confused. At his age Draco had already known that marriages in his world were arranged. It was like inborn knowledge to him, but his son was growing up differently. While Draco's views were simple and certain; his son had choices. There was room for confusion. There were questions. Draco often wondered if he was doing a rubbish job and worried that Scorpius was going to end up unhappy. Draco himself now had choices, but he wasn't sure he wanted them, or what to do with them anyway. They didn't make his life much better. Besides, he mostly wanted to be left alone.

 

“How is Nana going to help you?” Scorpius asked.

 

Here we go, Draco thought. The basic rules of pureblood traditions.

 

“By finding a suitable candidate for me,” Draco used the exact words his mother did. Scorpius frowned at the phrase and Draco wasn't surprised at all. It was used through his family for generations, and thus it should have felt familiar and acceptable. Instead, Draco felt an itch along his left arm every time the conversation about this had started. You couldn't simply find candidates for a marriage. No, no – you could, but that didn't guarantee a good life. At all. Draco's mind was rebelling. He was now a man who learned how to drive a car, had read Muggle books, and had gained a good grasp on Muggle history. It was just as bloody as the Wizarding one. His race killed each other because of blood status, the Muggles had nations and religions. Crusade wars and Holocaust. The different worlds seemed so depressingly similar.

 

“A can – di – da – te,” Scorpius mused aloud. “What does that mean, daddy?”

 

“It means someone who would get along well with me.” Draco purposefully left out Scorpius out of the equation. At the same time, the boy seemed to contemplate his father's words with great seriousness.

 

Later that evening, the portrait of his late wife would tell him that he'd become such a romantic and he would glare at the face he'd been missing for six years. She would mock him lovingly, and then  ask him wouldn't he like to get his new chance with someone? Wouldn't a new mother be good for Scorpius? Draco would retreat into his silence, knowing that Astoria was unique in her way of looking through his past and straight into who he was.

 

At the moment, Draco was sitting on a bench next to his confused son, and his son was all he had. Which was why he felt so damn exposed and so protective at the same time. “You see, some people believe that two people should marry because they come from similar backgrounds. Similar families, similar traditions -”

 

“And what does that mean?”

 

“That they're both from good families, for example.”

 

“But that is good, right?”

 

“Sometimes. But, sometimes it means that you would marry someone you don't really know. And if you don't know someone, it means you don't know what they're like. Or, if they like you,” Draco didn't know whom his mother decided to invite, he just knew that he would not tolerate some pureblood girl who'd expect him to treat her like most pureblood girls were raised to expect. It would undoubtedly mean pushing the late wife's son aside for frivolities Draco didn't care or have time for.

 

Scorpius spent some time pondering his father's words. “Daddy, can't you marry someone who likes you?” he asked finally, looking at Draco.

 

Draco almost laughed at that.

 

“That would be the best thing, I think,” he said diplomatically. Should he try to explain, to a six year old, that not many people liked him? Scorpius observed him seriously. “That _is_ what many other people want to do. Marry someone they like.”

 

Scorpius was thoughtful. He had those moments when he seemed like a mini - grownup. “I think you shouldn't marry someone you don't even know,” he said finally. That did make Draco smile. It was something Astoria could do. Had he been lucky, and had she lived, he would probably have been _happy_ with her. He didn't care repeating the experience of pureblood marriage lottery for the sake of the traditions. The fact that he was a young widower mattered less than an evening spent like this; something he never got to do with his own father.

 

“See, I wouldn't like to marry someone who wouldn't be nice to me. Or, more importantly, to _you_ ,” Draco said then.

 

“You know what I think, daddy?”

 

“No idea, son,” Draco said.

 

“Maybe it's better if I help you,” he said.

 

“Really, Scorp?” Draco asked, suppressing laughter.

 

“Of course. I would do that much better than Nana,” Scorpius seemed quite serious.

 

“How so, Scorp?”

 

“Because I would find someone who likes both you and me. And I am good at finding things,” he said and Draco had to laugh, wondering if his son would turn out to be the first Hufflepuff in the family. “Daddy?”

 

“Yes, love?” he asked. Draco was _not_ an affectionate man. He did not show a kind face to most of the world.

 

“Are you happy?” his son asked him. His own father never asked him that.

 

“With you, son, I am always happy,” he answered and pulled the boy close. Perhaps he was a hard, unkind, maybe even evil creature. He was that man most of the time, with most of the people he knew, but this felt truer than everything else. Nobody needed to know that. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering what Astoria would say.

 

She would have an answer for this, and not only that. She would have said something that would make him feel like a better person.

 

“Promise?” The boy pressed his face against Draco's chest. There was still one person in the world, genuinely interested in state of his happiness.

 

Draco hugged his son tightly.

 

“Promise, Scorp.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

The warm day had turned into a windy evening, and the quiddich game was finally, _thankfully_ over. Hermione's interest in quiddich had decreased significantly since her schooldays, but she made an exception for the Holyhead Harpies. Since Ginny's team had scored a victory the mood in her group was cheerful. Fred had little James up on his shoulders, Rose was bouncing next to Harry, holding his hand, and George was contently destroying one song after another. Percy had to work; Bill and Charlie weren't even in the country, so it's been just few of them here. Hermione was left to her own devices. She wasn't successful avoiding the thoughts of Ron, though, she never was. He was always there, like a phantom pain, a missing limb that would never leave her side. His little sister was playing in a professional league; something he would have been proud of. Something he didn't get to see. Memories, were like a minefield; everywhere around her. She had learned how to walk through it with her teeth clenched. Being a single mother was making her feel responsible and tired, but being a widow had made her feel _old_.

 

She was lost in her thoughts when something caught her eye – a child, alone, standing near the exit where her group was headed. The boy looked lost, scared; very familiar. That kind of blond hair could belong to only one child she knew.

 

“Harry, Fred, wait,” she called after them, quickly crossing the short distance. Was everyone just passing by in too much hurry, too preoccupied to notice a scared child? Was this something only a concerned parent would notice? When she finally reached him, she realized he was in state of overwhelming, complete anxiety. “Scorpius?” he turned around, and for a moment it seemed he didn't even recognize her. Hermione knelt in front of the boy with an assuring smile. “Scorpius? Sweetheart, it's Rosie's mum. Do you remember me?”

 

He looked at her, unsure. It was strange, staring at the face that was essentially Draco's, yet seeing a completely new person. She briefly thought about Draco's change. “What's wrong, sweetheart?” she asked.

 

“I've got lost,” he sniffed, “and I can't find my daddy,” tears started to well up in his grey eyes.

 

“Oh, love, you must be scared,” he was nodding and coming closer to Hermione's inviting hand. At that point Rose was at her side.

 

“Scorp! What are you doing here alone? Why are you crying?” Rose asked as Hermione hugged him.

 

“I – I – got – lo -lost,” he sobbed into Hermione's arm.

 

“Shhh, sweetie. I'll help you find your daddy, okay?”

 

“What do we have here?” Harry's voice came from above Hermione's head. He crouched next to Hermione and smiled when Scorpius pried his teary face away from her. His voice was pleasant, calming. “Boy, do you look familiar.”

 

“Yeah,” Fred chimed in, leaning so his head was next to Hermione's. “Georgie, look what we've found here.”

 

“Blimey, mate. That's mini – Draco,” George grinned.

 

“I - I'm Scorpius,” the boy protested as he battled tears. Hermione rubbed his back, Rose put her hand on his arm and glared at her funny uncles, and the boys all smiled at Scorpius.

 

“Are you sure? You look a lot like Draco to me,” George continued to tease him lightly.

 

“That's because he's my daddy,” the tears were slowly fading away.

 

“Where's your 'ol dad, mate?” Fred asked the wrong question, and the boy's expression became crying and teary all over again.

 

“He got lost,” Rose was frowning in protest, with her little arms crossed. “And he's upset.”

 

“Say we help you find your dad, what do you think, Scorpius?” Harry asked kindly. The boy was hiding away in Hermione's embrace again. The wind was getting stronger and the clouds were promising heavy rain. The evening was turning more unpleasant by the minute, and Hermione knew they couldn't stay here and look for Draco.

 

“Harry, how about we take him to Burrow and you look for Malfoy?” Hermione asked. “They probably got separated in the crowd, and Draco must be looking all over for him.”

 

And he is probably beside himself with worry, she thought. Going completely mental, most probably, like she would if Rose was lost.

 

Harry nodded in agreement. “Don't worry,” he said, rubbing the boy's back and looking at Hermione. “We're going to find your dad in no time.”

 

 

*

 

 

After an explanation on where Harry was going to look for Draco, and how, Scorpius was able to relax. The search for Draco took longer than Harry had promised, but food, warmth and company did wonders for any upset child. Scorpius easily attached himself to Molly, the apple pie and pumpkin juice. Fred and George were having a kick out of entertaining him, James, and Rose. Albus was asleep. Harry had returned an hour ago, not being able to find Draco in the crowd, after which Hermione cast her Patronus, sending the silvery otter in search for her colleague.

 

“Don't you think they're having bit too much fun?” Harry asked when he came into kitchen where Hermione was preparing tea.

 

She shook her head. “It's just that he _looks_ like Draco. One might think they're re-enacting the school days. With different outcome, of course,” she paused and thought about this. The looks. The names. The things designed to tell who you were, to whom you belonged. What you were supposed to be. “Besides, they seem to think it's funny to convince him he should be in Hufflepuff once he's in Hogwarts.”

 

Harry laughed. A full, resounding, honest – to – God laugh. She missed those. She smiled, raised her eyebrow at Harry.

 

“Well, the boy couldn't be _less_ like Draco. Who's going to have a fit when he hears about this Hufflepuff business,” Harry accepted his cup of tea gratefully.

 

“Thank you. It's freezing out there. Wonder when Ginny's going to be home.”

 

“She should be -”

 

A loud knock interrupted Hermione. It probably wasn't Ginny, who would use floo or apparate straight into the living room. Knocking was a courtesy between strangers, even in the magical world. On the other side of the door was Draco, out of breath and ragged by the wind, as upset as he could be.

 

“Where is he?” he asked when Hermione opened the door. He would have stomped into the house like a tornado, but she grabbed his arms, feeling just as breathless as she held off his progress.

 

“He's inside, with Rose and James and the twins and he is okay -”

 

His mind didn't seem to register her words. She had seen Draco like this once, or perhaps twice. The Room of Requirement on fire. The Malfoy Manor in the midst of the war.

 

“I told him thousand times – let go of me Granger -”

 

She allowed her fingers to push pain into his arms.

 

“Malfoy. _Malfoy!_ ” Hermione physically shook him as Harry stood beside her. “ _Look_ at me. He was _extremely upset_ and worried about you and we managed to calm him. It's not going to help if he sees you this upset.”

 

It took a couple of moments. His eyes focused on her, not trusting, sharp.

 

“For Merlin's sake, Granger, of course I'm upset! He got lost and I was looking for him for hours! Someone could have -”

 

Hermione wasn't letting him go. Yes, _someone could have_. He didn't have to finish that. He didn't need to explain how he felt at all; she _knew_.

 

“Of course you were,” she never used such soft voice for him, but he was listening to her, instead of going on with his panic. “Come inside and _calm down_ first,” Hermione heard Harry moving behind her.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry said.

 

“Potter,” he replied, as normal as Draco possibly could, given the situation. Hermione released his arms, realizing they must have looked like they were about to have a fight, and moved aside so he could enter. He hesitated, looking around. It seemed that he remembered where he was. How unusual it all was.

 

“Come on,” Hermione said patiently. She wasn't in the mood for his sarcastic remarks, but Draco remained silent and followed her. Harry exchanged a look with Hermione before they reached the kitchen. They found Molly and Arthur inside, and while Arthur's face was guarded, just as his greeting, Molly didn't seem to have any problem with their visitor.

 

“Well, thank God,” she said, ushering three of them inside. She looked at Draco, as she would look at one of her sons and hold them accountable. “That poor boy was scared out of his mind!”

 

Draco pressed his lips together and nodded at the Weasley parents. “Evening,” he said.

 

“I'm Molly,” she told him.

 

“I know that.”

 

Well, of course he did. He and Molly's children only spent years of schooling hating each other.

 

“Well, good, then. Now after we're properly introduced, I'm sure you want to see your son.”

 

There were several very brief, very awkward moments. “Thank you for helping Scorpius,” Draco said finally, looking at Arthur and Molly with a strange expression on his face. Then he turned to Hermione and Harry, as if they had the power to make this somehow less awkward. Harry's expression was tight and unreadable.

 

“It wasn't a trouble,” Molly said, carefully regarding Draco. Parent to parent, person to person; it's a matter of equality to Molly. A credit where credit was due. “Your son is a lovely boy.”

 

Draco didn't know what to do with this. He looked uncomfortable and Hermione deemed Scorpius would only pick up on his mood.

 

“We were about to have tea. I thought you might... want some,” she said, looking at Draco and mentally willing him to accept. Which he did, perhaps because he was in no position to make demands. After sharing another look with Draco, hard and filled with unspoken things, Harry excused himself. Arthur and Molly followed their son in law, which left Hermione and Draco alone in the kitchen.

 

She poured him a cup of tea and he took a place at the table – that same long table where she spent so many holidays during which she, Harry, and Ron discussed this same man who was sitting across from her. This, actually, had to be one of the most surreal experiences she could imagine – having a perfectly civilized tea with a Malfoy in the Weasley's kitchen.

 

It was quiet for awhile, except for the faint sound of children's laughing in the back of the house. It wasn't that Hermione didn't know what to ask him – she didn't have much contact with him outside the work, if any at all. Draco certainly wasn't going to make this any easier, especially not now when he was out of the mind with worry. That was something he would probably hide from her and anyone in this house. Hermione found she could sympathise with him. No, she could imagine _exactly_ how he was feeling, and what kind of fears were going through his mind for the last couple of hours. That was something she could relate to.

 

“So, how did he get lost?” she asked. She honestly wanted to know. Draco's jaw clenched. Hermione was pretty certain she could see more than just anger on his face. The fearin his eyes was raw, but it lasted only a moment before he forced composure onto his features. Then he took a breath. The situations that rattled his self control were rare. “He does that – wanders away. I warned him enough times over, but -” he exhaled sharply, looking at the flowery cup filled with tea.

 

“That would be any parent's nightmare,” she said calmly.

 

“I doubt you can imagine,” his tone was stiff. Also a little rude. She was aware it was merely a tactic of his.

 

“Actually I _can_. Considering how Rose is the only thing I -” Hermione looked up to catch his eyes. He was looking at her, his gaze a heavy, impenetrable layer of silver. She wondered briefly if he deserved her honesty on this topic. He still had the old habit of using someone’s openess and percieved weakenss against them, but she assumed that was just another method of defending himself against others. Draco Malfoy had learned to view the world as a hostile place turned against him, for no other fact than his identity. And while he did commit very bad things in the past, Hermione was aware that his current deeds and actions were quite different, and Hermione believed that this sort of change shouldn’t be taken lightly or ignored.

 

“My only child,” she said, lowering her eyes to the tea cup in front of her. It was somehow more comfortable not to look staright at him. Rose is all that I have left of Ron, she thought, and all that you have left of your wife is that lovely boy. And that, that was something she knew, it was her reality, just as it was his. And she could easily imagine how he was feeling right now. “I know how it feels, Draco. I can imagine it, and I don’t wand to even imagine it.”

 

He looked at her a little bit longer and then slowly nodded – almost an imperceptible movement of agreement. It gave her a bit of relief.

 

“He was quite scared,” Hermione said. Draco rubbed his face and Hermione could see a glimpse of his exhaustion, the powerlessness he wasn't used to.

 

“Well, _I_ was out of my mind,” he said.

 

“I'm sorry it happened, Malfoy.”

 

“ _Sure_.”

 

“Don't be sarcastic,” she said calmly. “I'm serious.”

 

“You're always serious,” he said quietly. His shoulders had relaxed somewhat and he pushed his tea cup away. “Granger, if you don't mind, I want to take my son home.”

 

“Of course,” she said. They stood, and he followed her towards the sounds of laughter. In the living room Fred and George were sitting on the floor, busy making a toy train move faster as it rolled around them, and produce steam in different colours. Rose, James and Scorpius were laughing out loud.

 

“Hey you all,” Hermione had a smile across her face. “Look who I found!”

 

“Daddy!” Scorpius was on his feet in an instant. Hermione witnessed another hug with all fours, and all Draco did was look incredibly, heartbreakingly relieved.

 

Hermione caught George's amused gaze from across the floor full of toys. When the hug ended and Draco got up, lifting Scorpius in his arms, the twins were looking at him.

 

“Hey, Malfoy,” George was smirking, “that's some kid you've got there. Sure you didn't adopt him?”

 

“What do you think, Weasley?” Draco was defensive, but not as venomous as he usually got with Goldstein these days. Fred got up and came closer, to ruffle the boy's hair. Draco glared at him, but Fred ignored it completely.

 

“Well, don't be a wanker, George. Can't you see the resemblance? Only a spawn of Malfoy,” he poked the boys' arm and Scorpius giggled, “can have that kind of hair that glows in the dark.”

 

“My hair doesn't glow in the dark!” he laughed. Hermione smiled.

 

“Oh, but I bet _I_ can make it glow,” Fred teased. Scorpius obviously won himself another fan.

 

“Just try,” Draco said.

 

“Do you have to be such prats?” Hermione asked, addressing all three men. It was a bit unfair to allow the twins needle Draco, but she didn't want him to feel excluded from her reprimand.

 

“Nothing I'm not used of, Granger,” Draco's tone was strictly civil. He looked at his son, and she didn't miss out the fondness and affection, no matter how briefly it appeared on his face. “Say thank you and good – night, Scorp. Time we go home.”

 

The boy looked at the twins with a smile – if anything was certain, then mutual affections were won, no matter how uncomfortable some of the grownups were feeling. “Night Fred, night George. And Rosie and James,” Scorpius said.

 

“Night, Scorp,” James waved. “Come visit us again,” he added. Hermione felt she could bite down a laugh.

 

“Night, mate,” Fred patted the boy's head again. “Be good, okay?”

 

Scorpius nodded. James waved, smiled and said good night.

 

“See you, Scorp,” Rose was standing next to Hermione, smiling. “Good night, mister Malfoy.”

 

In a brief moment before he walked out, Draco nodded at Rose. He glanced at Hermione briefly and she wasn't sure what to make of his brief expression, but it looked suspiciously like gratitude. Subdued, guarded, but it was there. Then he looked at Rose again. “You can call me Draco,” he said to the little girl.

 

 

*

 

**_Part Four_ **

 

 

“Deadlines! What does that even mean?!”

 

“That means that we have _limited time_ to be finished with all of these -” Granger gestured toward the pile of reports waiting on her desk. Reports that wouldn't write themselves, of course, and all she had to say was _calm down?!_

 

“Fucking hell, Granger. Those are initial reports, those we haven't even been to -”

 

“Well, I _know_ that, Malfoy. It seems like we've pissed someone off,” Hermione stated.

 

“You mean, _I_ pissed _Goldstein_ off, and that little rat had been pulling strings to ensure we can't do our job in time.”

 

Granger sighed and rolled her eyes at him, but he knew he was right about Goldstein. That idiot had gained too much power and influence over past five years and now he was picking at anyone he didn't like. In the past three months he'd gotten on Draco's every nerve. Because he _could_.  Bloody hell.

 

Granger had to be the infuriating know it all, of course. “No, not, you, Draco; I said _we._ And I meant it. In case you hadn’t noticed, I was with you all along.”

 

“Granger,” he paused. This attitude of hers was still hard to buy. Was she for real about this? He was well aware that Goldstein wouldn't be doing all he could to screw _her_ over. This project was important of course – some families could have their property and possessions back, some houses were thoroughly purged, and some ended up as Auror training grounds. Some were properly banned from entering. All of them were _safe_ afterwards, which gave their shitty work some worth, but still. “Are you taking my side -”

 

“I'm not taking a _side_ , Mafoy, this job is mine as well as it's yours! Besides, what's so bad about me taking your side -”

 

“Are you seriously asking me this?”

 

“Well, I think the one who'd be entitled to feel bad about that isn't you!”

 

“I can't believe-”

 

Suddenly their discussion was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. In came Potter, and along with him Scorpius and Rose, each holding one of his hands. Potter was smirking in an entirely amused fashion. He thought arguments with Granger were something pleasant, obviously, but Draco wasn't the one with the martyr complex around here. He wanted her to stop talking, as soon as possible, please and thank you. Potter’s timing wasn’t disastrous for a change, but what on Earth was he doing here with Scorpius and Rose?

 

“If you two can pause this lovely discussion, I have something that belongs to both of you,” he smirked.

 

“Potter and – _what_ are the two of you doing here?”

 

The children were definitely not supposed to be here. Arguing with Granger could wait for a moment. Scorpius flashed Draco his most charming grin, which naturally meant he knew he had done something he shouldn't have. This child of his was going to cost him his health.

 

“We were playing hide and seek, and we wanted to hide somewhere where nobody would find us and -” Rose begun promptly, intent on solidarity with the little troublemaker that Scorpius was. Granger raised her finger.

 

“Just wait a minute. Weren't you supposed to hide somewhere _inside_ the daycare, huh?”

 

Two little conspirators exchanged glances. Draco might have been amused if he hadn't been cross, because this had to be his son's idea.

 

“We did at first, but then Billy Herberts almost found us and we went to hide... some place better,” Rose supplied.

 

“And how did you end up here?” Granger asked further.

 

“That was my idea,” it was Scorpius this time. Okay, where did he get this particular trait? Sticking his neck out for someone else? Draco taught him to be careful, or at least he tried to; to always look after himself and others, but he didn't in any way teach his child to be dumbly heroic.

 

“No, it was my idea,” Rose insisted. It seemed that they were both correctly aware of their parents displeasure.

 

“I think it's good that I have found you,” Harry said. “You two could have gotten lost, and this isn't really a good place to get lost.”

 

“You'd know that, eh Potter?” Draco asked. “The least I need is _you_ being their mentor on how to get into trouble.”

 

“Well, they seem to manage just fine on their own,” Potter replied.

 

“Oh yes, go on and give them ideas,” Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Malfoy, as I recall, you were capable of finding trouble all on your own,” Granger actually teased him.

 

“That's not the point,” he said, determined to make it clear that two of them were _not allowed_ to wander through Ministry of Magic all alone. Well, at least Scorpius wasn't allowed. But Granger and Potter weren't helping, and his plan was falling apart. “The point is -”

 

Granger gave him a significant look and slightly shook her head, forming _not now_ with her mouth. He was about to protest but she cut him off.

 

“We'll get to the point later. I think it's important that we let Hannah know where they are, don't you think?”

 

Granger, he thought, was always so practical. He made himself calm down and agreed, deciding he would have a conversation with Abbott later. A long, thorough, conversation.

 

“I can go tell her,” Potter offered. “That is if you two intend to keep your offspring with you?”

 

“Well, that's a tempting idea,” Draco said, looking at the troublemaking two.

 

“We could have them do our paperwork since they like running around without permission,” Granger suggested. The children exchanged looks, clearly realizing they were in trouble.

 

“I think I like that idea, Granger,” Draco said, crossing his arms. Okay, so she might have some kind of plan. He was trying to break Scorpius out of this particular habit for more than a year, but the boy simply wouldn't listen. Let's see if the brightest witch of our age could do it, he thought.

 

“Okay, then that's been settled,” Potter said. “I'll see the two of you later,” he smiled at the children before he left.

 

“And what do we do with them?” Draco looked at Granger, who was taking her light, short jacket and pulling it on.

 

“Well, it's time for a break and I don't recall when was the last time I actually went _out_ for one. I plan to take these two with me, if you agree, so we could have a bit of a conversation,” she arched her eyebrow on Scorpius and Rose. “You're invited, of course,” she said to Draco.

 

He was about to protest, because that's what he usually did regarding all of her suggestions, but the idea of going outside and seeing actual sunshine was pretty tempting. “You can complain all you want once we're out,” Granger said. The children were glancing between two of them, probably trying to determine if they were really angry, and how much trouble they were in.

 

“Pft,” he went to grab his jacket. “Someone must keep an eye on you. If I recall, you were along with Potter on all of his ill advised adventures. I'm not sure you wouldn't inspire these two to get into even more trouble.”

 

“What kind of adventures?” Scorpius was too curious for his own good.

 

“The kind you don’t get to hear about, because what you two just did made me very worried,” Draco said to his son and hated himself for causing that mournful expression on the boy’s face.

 

“Malfoy –“

 

“Granger, if you want to go out, let’s go out,” he sighed.

 

“That's the spirit,” she said, crouching to fix Rose's big sweater. “You know, lot of people actually do this.”

 

“Do what?” he had Scorpius' hand safe in his and wasn't intending of letting him go.

 

“Take their children out on a break every once in a while. We haven’t done it in a long time, haven't we, Rose?” The girl nodded.

 

“Can we go get ice cream, mummy?”

 

“Oooh, ice cream!” Scorpius chimed in. “Can we, dad?”

 

“I'm not sure you two deserved ice cream after the mischief you got yourself in today,” Draco said. “What do you think, Granger?”

 

He hoped she'd get that so very _obvious_ hint.

 

“I think Draco is right,” with hands on her hips she looked down on the two trouble makers. “But if you two improve your behaviour we can get an ice cream next week. An awesome, incredible, brilliant ice cream,” Granger described the ice cream like the most exciting experience of a lifetime. Draco could see the children's eyes getting bigger. “We'll go out for a break, all of us together, and we'll go for an ice cream,” she looked at him now. Draco couldn't find a flaw in her little plan. Children were, after all, very cooperative if you used clever blackmail. “But only under condition that you don't cause any trouble to Miss Hannah and don't wander away again.”

 

They were like puppies eating out of her hand. Granger shot him a look and smiled.

 

“I must say it's a tempting offer, Granger. What kind of ice cream wonder is this?” he decided to play along and make them want their prize just a little bit more.

 

“Oh I know a perfect little place. A real ice cream shop, you could call it. It's very _very_ nice,” the exaggeration in her voice was doing wonders. “They have dozens of different flavours,” oh, she was _good_ at this. The two youngsters were begging her with their eyes, and it almost made Draco feel sorry. _Almost._

 

“Say, Granger, is this in Muggle London?”

 

“As the matter of fact, it is,” she said. “Hope that's okay with you?”

 

“Oh, we're perfectly okay with that,” Draco grinned briefly at his son. In fact, that worked in his favour. Scorpius loved the Muggle places. Honestly, how could that kid even be his? “We know how to handle ourselves in the Muggle world, do we, Scorp?”

 

“Yes, Daddy,” the boy smiled enthusiastically. It was really difficult not to smile back at him. That child owned him, in every possible sense. Granger was looking at him curiously, like she was seeing him for the first time. It took him a moment to figure out why. “Um. Shall we?” he said, managing a pleasant face. He took his son's hand and Granger was safely holding her daughter in a similar fashion.

 

“We'll be delighted,” Granger said. The kids were grinning happily.

 

They were a sight to behold as they walked through the Ministry like that.

 

Half an hour later they were strolling slowly through a small Muggle park.

 

Draco had to admit, Granger had a cunning way of getting the kids do what she wanted. Or, in this case, _promise_ her what she (and well, he as well) wanted. Scorpius admitted that he was feeling rather bored today - apparently he and Rose didn't have any adventure lately. Draco asked what kind of adventures was he talking about, and discovered that Rose didn't feel like coming up with stories about their adventures which they were going to have some day when they're grown all up.  That was probably how they decided that they should have a _real_ adventure today. The fact that Rose missed mummy probably helped. In any case, Scorpius was really curious to see daddy's office.

 

The quiet walk was actually pleasant. Draco had his eyes on his son and Hermione's daughter, running around and exploring everything around them. She observed both of the children as well, and when it looked like they were about to do something they shouldn't, she warned them both. As did he. It was kind of weird.

 

He and Granger were, obviously, getting along better in the workplace, but they never acted in sync – in fact, things that didn't require a discussion, if not a row, were rare. This was different, though – perhaps because it wasn't about _them_ or what they wanted. It was a bit strange, also somehow shocking, to realize that he got along well with Granger - the - mother.

 

“You know, I think we could do this more,” Granger said suddenly.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Take them out for a walk,” she said. “That might help to wear them out,” she looked at him as they walked side by side.

 

“Granger, if you recall, we are supposed to work our asses off for those deadlines.”

 

“I haven't forgotten that. We can split up. You can stay in office and do the paperwork, I can take them for a walk and get us coffee on the way back. Next day we can switch; you take them for a walk – what?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” he wasn't certain what was so amusing. He honestly had never met someone who came up with plans easier than she did.

 

“Malfoy,” her eyebrow shot up.

 

“Do you have an entire schedule figured out already, Granger?”

 

“I am simply organized,” she said. “And prepared. Rose! Don't go over there!”

 

“Nothing about your organization is simple,” he could tell she would be riled up already if the kids weren't distracting her from the conversation. Seriously, for a person with _decent_ brains (he wasn't saying smartest witch of their age, not aloud, not even in his head, unless it was an irony) couldn't tell that he was provoking her for the sake of it? And to see her reaction, of course, because that was just too much fun to miss.

 

“Wow, Malfoy, let's fight like kids,” she said. He smirked. She rolled her eyes. “What do you think about my suggestion?”

 

“I assume we can try and see how that works. But if Scorpius wanders away -”

 

“Malfoy, I won't lose your child. _You_ better not lose mine.”

 

“Granger. Do you honestly trust me enough to leave your kid with me?”

 

“Well, I put my own life in your hands at work every week. I suppose I have some trust in you. Though I might reconsider that.”

 

“ _Some_ ,” he repeated pointedly, pretending to be offended.

 

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” she answered smartly. He snorted, she chuckled and they continued walking. Okay, this wasn't a bad idea. He wasn't going to say it aloud, but he was looking forward to spend more time with Scorpius. Another thing he wasn't mentioning was his relief when he realized that his child had made friends. He mentioned lot of other children on regular basis, but it seemed Rose Weasley was his favourite.

 

“You're right, let's not,” he saw two children running back to them, full speed. Granger gave him an amused look.

 

“Malfoy, where did your son get his enthusiasm?”

 

“Not from me, Granger,” he smirked. In the meantime, Scorpius and Rose were in front of them, demanding immediate attention.

 

“Daddy!” Come and see what we've found!”

 

*

 

“I am telling you again Granger, that's a retarded idea! Do I look like I have time to waste?”

 

“Malfoy, it's only two weeks. It’s a good opportunity for you, it’s good for the trainees, and Merlin knows it's a more interesting thing to do than _this_ -”

 

“Do you know how much actual work we can get done in two bloody weeks?”

 

“Malfoy, calm down,” Hermione lowered her voice. “Do you want the children to hear you shouting like this?”

 

“They're _upstairs_ ,” he waved his hand dismissively.

 

“Anyone could hear us in _North Pole_ , Malfoy, not only upstairs” she said, starting to pace around the room. Frankly, she wasn't crazy about Harry's suggestion either, but when she weighed pros and cons, it could be good for Draco. A quick course in curse breaking for new Aurors? It had been Harry's idea, and if he wasn't trying to help Draco improve his reputation, then Hermione was completely clueless. After months of their inspections, which were uneventful, boring and tiring most of the time; followed by race against the clock to get the paperwork done, Hermione thought this would cheer him up.

 

She didn't understand him. He hated the dullness of their work most of the time, and he often complained about it while pacing through empty rooms looking for threats that weren't there, but it seemed that he avoided every opportunity to get involved in something else. It didn't make much sense. Hermione didn't enjoy the monotony of inspections either, but it was an important work, and hr own project. She wanted it to suceed-

 

Hermione was completely able to take care of everything by herself.  She didn't have to, though. The difference was subtle, but important. She started the project alone, working at slower pace, spending longer hours to evaluate and explore everything by herself. It was a good feeling, having someone around to help find the best approach to a situation. She was doing fine on her own, but with Draco it was going _better_.

 

Draco talked about it in negative terms, but on the occasions when they were out, and inspecting a property suspecting to contain dark magic or artefacts, Draco would transform. He would become  a person made of pieces she had known, but didn't see assembled together like they were when he was in action. He had the arrogance of knowledge combined with caution that was probably a result of experiences, and some strange sense of duty to accompany it.

 

Hermione attempted to acknowledge the quality of his work several times, but he wouldn't accept it. And now Harry was offering him something that anyone else might have found flattering – heck, Harry went out of his way to ensure the minister himself would approve of this, and Draco was being a prat about it.

 

One thing was certain; Draco never did anything without a good reason.

 

Hermione took a deep breath, hating what she was about to do.

 

“Malfoy, don't you realize that Harry is doing you a favour?”

 

“Granger, I don't need any bloody favours -”

 

“You're priceless! This is not because you need it, it's because Harry thinks you're good!

 

“Oh, how wonderful!  Potter thinks I'm good!”

 

“Malfoy, seriously, you need to change-”

 

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted.

 

“Are you fighting?”

 

Hermione turned around. Their children were standing on the doorstep – Scorpius looked concerned, while Rose wore a disapproving expression on her face.

 

“No, sweetie, we are merely discussing something,” Hermione tried. A huge understatement.

 

“But you were shouting and saying bad words,” Scorpius had a point.

 

“That’s because we don't agree about something, and well, we got a little carried away,” she knelt in front of the boy. “Everything is going to be okay,” she caressed his little cheek. He looked at his father as did Hermione. Draco probably didn't have an answer ready for this type of situation, and in any case he was still extremely annoyed. He made a general gesture of agreement, but Hermione sensed it wouldn't be enough.

 

Rose, however, did have an answer for them.

 

“Miss Hannah says we should hug and make up when we're cross at each other and say bad words to each other,” she said, crossing her little arms and giving that disapproving look to two grownups.

 

“That's true,” Scorpius backed her up readily. “You should hug and make up,” he decided.

 

“And not yell anymore,” Rose added.

 

Hermione got up slowly and looked at Draco. Like he was going to help her out of this situation.

 

“Now, Rose -” she begun, but her daughter was bossy like her mother.

 

“You said we should listen to Miss Hannah.”

 

True, she did.

 

“You said so too, daddy,” Scorpius chimed in.

 

“Did you, now, Malfoy?” Hermione looked at him again.

 

He didn't have time to respond because Rose grabbed his hand, which he certainly didn’t expect, and to his credit he didn’t protest.

 

“Hug and make up, that's a rule,” Scorpius was looking up at them with his little hands on his hips.

 

“Granger,” Draco finally said something. “Whose brilliant idea was this, anyway?”

 

“What? Teach your child to obey authority figures, unlike yourself?”

 

“That's rich, coming from one third of the Trouble Trio,” Hermioenw asn’t quick enough to hide how the comment affected her. He had to be insensitive, and she wished he would stop making comments like that. There was no more Trio. Just pieces. Something flashed in Draco's eyes, something like regret, when one small hand poked side of Hermione's leg.

 

“Hug,” Rose demanded. The request was ironic, coming from Ronald Weasley's child. Thatw as what she got for raising Rose according to her beliefs.

 

“Better face the inevitable, Malfoy. Or are you scared?”

 

“I'm not scared, Granger,” he frowned at her, but his expression lacked the intent.

 

It was an uncomfortable hug. She didn't know what to do with her hands, and had to remind herself where to put them. Draco was taller than her, almost as tall as Ron was, but that was where similarities had ended. Ron was broad shouldered, steady wall of comfort, strong and soft at the same time. Her hands had a hard time finding a purchase on Draco's minimalistic frame. She could barely feel the touch of his hands on her back and that made her feel disheartened. Couldn't he pretend, at least for the sake of children?

 

“That's not a good hug,” Rose said critically. Draco moved, shifting his head to take a look at the children. Hermione wasn't certain where his patience for children was coming from. He talked to them seriously, prodding discussions and critical thinking. He wasn't the one for too many games, but he had more patience with two of them than with anyone else.

 

“Now, young lady, what do you mean it's not a good hug?” he asked.

 

“It's not because you're not hugging tight,” Rose said. “So you have to hug again and fix it.”

 

“Yeah,” Scorpius was nothing if not a perfect little conspirator. Among the two Malfoy men, he was definitely Hermione's favourite, but right now he wasn’t working in her favor. “When you make up you hug really tight to show you mean it,” he explained.

 

“Granger,” Draco's voice was right next to her ear. “We have to fix this hug.”

 

“We won't if you don't actually hug me,” she said.

 

“That's really rich, Granger. My backside isn't prickly.”

 

“Stop being juvenile. Children are watching us.”

 

“Are you even aware that those children are telling us what to do?”

 

“Those children happen to have a point. We shouldn't be yelling at each other and -”

 

“Damn it, woman,” the second hug caught her by surprise. He pulled her to him leaving her almost no space or time to react. It was a close, secure hold, and all she could do was pull her arms around him from under his shoulders. It was easier holding him this way. More comfortable. She squeezed a little, and Draco leaned his chin on her shoulder with a sigh.

 

“Looks like they won, Granger.”

 

“Shut up,” she told him. For some peculiar reason she couldn't be angry at him anymore. She had been suspecting for a long time now that there was something bothering him. Something that was behind this outburst as well. Of course he wouldn't tell her. God, it had to suck to be him sometimes, she thought. Hermione leaned her head against him and rubbed his back on an impulse. Surprisingly, she could feel the tension under her hands go away. He leaned a little bit more against her.

 

“That's better, is it, Rose?” Scorpius piped in.

 

“Much better,” Rose agreed.

 

“Can we let go of each other now?” Draco asked.

 

“Just a little bit more,” Scorpius sounded way too amused for his own good.

 

“How long, Scorp?” Hermione asked, but she wasn't in a hurry to let go of her infuriating colleague. If anything, he was calming down now.

 

“A little bit more,” Rose said.

 

“Granger, I ask you again, are you aware that we're being ordered around by our children?” Draco's voice was losing its edge. She didn't want to fight with him. She wished she could fix whatever was bothering him, but knew it wouldn't happen. Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? Why did he oppose everything someone else, her in particular, had suggested? Even when it was for his own good? She wanted him to cooperate at least for _once_.

 

The thing was, she wanted this because of _him_. Not because it would make the matters easier for her. He wasn't able to accept this, of course.

 

“Don't you think it's only fair since we order them around all the time?”

 

“That's a very mature thing to say in front of them.”

 

“Perhaps not, but they know I love them and know what's good for them. And they know as well. Which is why they do listen to me,” she said, realizing what she had spoken only after the words have left her mouth. “I _mean_ it, Malfoy. I love them.”

 

And she did. Loving Scorpius was easy. It came to her naturally and effortlessly. She watched that child almost every day. Wherever she and Rose went, Scorpius was with them if Draco was in the office or at some meeting. Hermione's desk was filled with notes written out in clumsy, too big letters in all colours. _I love you mummy_ , and _I love you Ermione_ right next to it.

 

“Well, I...,” he paused. She could feel him swallow.

 

“What?”

 

Long silence. Then he spoke, his cheek against her hair.

 

“I  - I think that's good.”

 

The hug came to a natural end. In a short, quiet moment Hermione took a long look at her colleague. He was the most annoying person on Earth, the most competent Curse Breaker she had met. A good father, a very responsible nanny. If there was a good enough recommendation, then her daughter's acceptance was it.

 

“Can we be done?” she asked, meaning the fight. Not surprisingly, he understood what she was saying. She could tell by his look.

 

There was another thing about him. They were evenly matched. He was smart. The discussions and even fights with him had been a challenge to match her capabilities. He could be annoying, difficult, stubborn and rude, but he was always smart.

 

She liked that.

 

“We can,” he said after a moment. She could actually feel him let go of the tiny bit of something big and heavy. She suddenly felt tired.

 

“What do you say, we could spend this day in a better way than doing the paperwork?”

 

“Granger,” his lips quirked up, “I actually feel like "miss – do – it – by – the - book" is talking me into skipping classes.”

 

His slight smile brought her relief.

 

“Perhaps I am, Malfoy. Don't waste this unique chance.”

 

“Dinner would be nice,” he suggested.

 

“Then dinner it will be,” she accepted.

 

 

*

 

 

**_Part Five_ **

 

 

Draco didn't know what to expect regarding his babysitting hours at first. He'd never gotten along too well with anyone whose last name was Weasley, and he was feeling a tiny bit apprehensive about being Rose's nanny during those hours Granger was spending locked up with _their_ paperwork. However, he hated paperwork more than anything else. The children made way more sense than paperwork – they wanted really simple things for easily understandable reasons, and Draco found he could provide those in a satisfactory manner. He was a decent student back in the day, when he focused on learning. He was crap as a Death Eater, which he was glad for. He rather didn't contemplate much what was he like as a son, or a husband, but being a parent felt different.

 

He wasn't exactly a person one would ask to look after a child for couple of hours, though; but the very first time he came to pick two children up during a break, Rose seemed to be as well behaved as she was around Hermione. He helped them put on their little jackets, checked their shoelaces and took their hands. It was as easy as that.

 

Granger half warned him about something being wrong today. She didn't look right and she was nervous and annoying, and he was as well, because they were preparing for their first official review in front of Ministry's committee for newly started projects. Which was why he missed Granger's explanations about the origins on this disaster.

 

Normally, Scorpius wasn't a weepy child. If he got upset, he bounced back easily. Draco knew strategies that worked. He wasn't prepared for a very upset mini – Granger. Abbott met him with a worried expression on her face and walked to him before he could reach two children sitting in a faraway corner of the room.

 

“Her pet has been killed,” Abbott supplied when he shot her a questioning look.

 

“What do you mean, killed?”

 

“Her kitten was run over by a car,” Abbott clarified. “Scorpius has been trying to cheer her up the entire morning.”

 

Draco sighed. This is why he didn't want to get any kind of pet for the boy. He looked at Abbott, nodded at her, and she went away. Draco observed the children for a couple of moments. It seemed that his son was attempting his best to empathize with the situation although he probably had a limited understanding of it. He never truly dealt with a loss. The mini Granger was explaining something, looking like her mother, except the ginger hair pulled in a ponytail. Scorpius regarded her quietly, looking completely worried.

 

Weren't his attempts to protect Scorpius from it all a bit naïve? He would have to deal with it, obviously. Nobody lived forever, nobody stayed forever, not even a pet. Draco walked toward the far corner.

 

“Hey, you two,” he said, kneeling down. “What's the matter?”

 

“A car ran over Rosie's kitty,” Scorpius supplied. Rose looked up.

 

“The driver didn't want to stop. He could, but he didn't,” she said sadly. Then she added in a weak voice, “I saw it.”

 

Oh sweet Merlin.

 

“That was certainly unfair,” Draco said carefully. “I'm very sorry about your kitty, Rose.” What kind of man purposefully ran over a cat, anyway? He would hex that person into next week, but he kept that thought to himself. Rose nodded, suddenly looking up at him. She was giving him the trademark Granger look, in seek of explanations. Was he up to this? A life lesson about loss and kittens and how mean people could be?

 

Mini Granger was, of course, asking questions.

 

“Why did he do that? My kitty was a good kitty.”

 

Oh, bloody hell.

 

“That's hard to say, Rose. Perhaps he didn't see the kitty.”

 

“But he did, he had to -”

 

Eyes full of tears weren't a good sign. He was supposed to comfort her, not diminish the driver's responsibility. This child had an inborn aversion to excuses, anyway.

 

“Perhaps he was careless. If that is the case, he is not a very nice person,” Draco said. The children were looking at him intently.

 

“What does careless mean, daddy?” Scorpius scooted over. He looked just as upset as Rose did. Draco rubbed the back of his neck. They needed cheering up and distracting from this topic, once it was appropriately dealt with, presumably in a way Granger would approve.

 

“It means someone is not caring what someone else might think, or how they might feel. Like, if they might be very sad about a kitty being run over.”

 

It seemed that Scorpius was processing this fact, that there were people who didn't care about wellbeing of others. Draco held his breath momentarily. Didn't he just describe his younger self? Wasn't it just delightfully ironic, how he almost caused a hipogryff to die, and Hermione Granger punched him in the face? He still remembered that punch, mind you. Right now he had the urge to punch whomever ran over a cat that belonged to Hermione's daughter.

 

“He isn't a nice person, then,” Scorpius concluded.

 

“Mommy says some people aren't nice,” Rose explained.

 

“Your Mommy is right,” Draco said. _I'm not nice, for example._

 

“I think we should tell not nice people that being nice is much better,” Scorpius suggested. “Could we do that, daddy?”

 

Before Draco could answer, Rose offered one of Granger – life truths. “Mummy says anyone should get a second chance. That we should show other people how to be nicer, so other people would like them better,” she frowned slightly, and looked at Draco. “But I don't know if I could like this person who ran over my kitty.”

 

“I understand, darling,” he smiled a little. He was usually serious most of the time, which didn't seem to bother Rose. Scorpius was used to him this way, of course. “I think it's normal to feel like that.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“I really don't think I could like that person.”

 

“You don't have to, Rosie. I think what your mum meant,” Draco paused, looking at the too serious six year old. Merlin help him, he was about to interpret Granger's mind to her own offspring. “Is that you shouldn't be like that, you know? That you should try to understand someone the best you can. If they're nice, you can be nice to them too. But you don't have to, if they're rude to you all the time.”

 

Okay, that was a Granger – lesson delivered in Slytherin fashion. Or something like that.

 

He observed two children, assessing that now would be a good moment to suggest a distraction.

 

“How about we head out for an ice cream?”  A poor substitution for a kitty, he knew, but it had comfort properties. In fact, he would tell them just that. “You know, ice cream helps you feel better.”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” Rose said, looking at him mournfully. “I'm still feeling very sad.”

 

“Well, darling,” he started, “ice cream helps, but good company helps even more,” he looked at his son and winked. Scorpius got the hint.

 

“That's true, Rosie!”

 

Granger's child couldn't be fooled, he knew that. Not that Scorpius was any different either – Draco never had a habit of not following through his promises. This was a special case, he concluded. It required special attention, where only a walk wouldn't help. He thought about his options – he could take some of the work with him, leave Granger a note and spend the rest of the day with these two. She could stop by him later and pick Rose up. In the meantime, he ought to prove that ice cream could really fix things. Ice cream and plenty of other distracting, fun things.

 

Draco sighed. He was going to be completely and utterly exhausted by the end of the day. But he'd take that over spending the rest of the day at the office at any time. The report wasn't due until next week anyway.

 

*

 

Hermione held Draco's note in her hand. It looked like it was written in haste.

 

_< blockquote>Granger, _

_I ran into a bit of an emergency during the break. You could have told me what I'd be dealing with, you know; pets ran over by an asshole in a car are serious things. Good thing is that I'm brilliant and I am going to fix this. I'm taking the little rascals out for the day. Feel free to join us for lunch after you're done with the evil people stomping through the office. I'm cooking._

-        _Malfoy </blockquote>_

 

She was feeling relieved when she found the note. Rose was upset yesterday, when her kitten had been run over, and she was still quite sad in the morning when Hermione left her in the daycare. Few months ago she didn't expect she would feel relieved to find a note from Draco on her desk, volunteering for the position of Rose's nanny for the day. Things have certainly changed, though.

 

A few minutes later she stepped out of the fireplace, taking in her surroundings when Draco appeared. She half expected a large room in even larger, echo harbouring house. Instead, it was evident that she found herself in an apartment building.

 

“Wow. This is not -” she started and stopped when she saw Draco wearing an apron. It was another one of those surreal things she never expected to see. Only, this time, she started to grin and he raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“Well, hello Granger,” Hermione was slightly rattled by the idea of domestic looking Draco. He obviously wasn't the guy who wore a pressed shirt and pants all the time any more. He looked cozy and casual in his jeans and navy blue shirt. “This is not what?”

 

“It's not what I've imagined,” she said, looking around. The apartment didn't seem big. It was a reasonable size, just enough for a man who lived alone with his son, but a modest place for someone who grew up in a giant manor.

 

“Really? And what _did_ you expect?”

 

“Oh, something bigger.”

 

“My father is more of a lord of a manor type,” he said. “Besides, my kid likes to get lost. Do you have any idea how long I'd look for him in a place like that?”

 

“True, there's that,” Hermione grinned lightly. The living room had been sensibly arranged, a sofa and two big, comfortable looking chairs, with a coffee table filling the room. The carpet beneath her feet was thick and soft, the bookshelf was filled from top to bottom. Hermione was immediately drawn to it. Draco stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. The children were laughing back in the other room.

 

“Well, this is a surprise,” Hermione paused in front of a separate shelf filled with Muggle books and films and musical disks.

 

“My good taste is a surprise?” he shot back, crossing his arms. She was aware that her admiration for his collection was apparent, and she didn't bother hiding it.

 

“Your taste in Muggle things is a surprise,” she teased cautiously. He showed his hands deeper in his pockets and rocked on his heels.

 

“Clearly, Granger, you still underestimate me,” his remark felt casual.

 

“How do I underestimate you?” she questioned, browsing through his collection.

 

“Even Muggles know it’s smart to keep your friends close and enemies even closer,” he said, and he was positively teasing, but she still gave him a dirty look. Muggles were not enemies. However, she knew now that he didn’t truly believe that for quite some time now. She decided to play his game a little bit.

 

“Funny how you seem to memorize quotes forged by the enemy side.”

 

“I’m a good student. At the top of my class, in fact,” he came closer.

 

“Did you get house points for quoting Muggle movies?” she narrowed her eyes at him and he offered a cocky smirk in return.

 

“I think I just did.”

 

He had a taste for what she would call classic films; then he had a vast collection of war related films. Somehow it seemed logical that he'd own, and possibly enjoy The Godfather. She could make parallels between the trilogy and what Voldemort had done to his followers, but she had a feeling that kind of conversation wouldn’t sit well with Draco right now. Breakfast at Tiffany's was a puzzling choice, but Draco was always capable of surprising her. She grinned at Finding Nemo and Toy Story series. Her finger stopped at Kingdom of Heaven.

 

“Interesting choice,” she said.

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“What?”

 

“Not my favourite, actually,” the expression on his face was one of his masks designed to hide some kind of discomfort of personal nature. Her curiosity was picked.

 

“Really? Why is that?” she asked.

 

“The ending doesn't really... fit,” he said.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Who leaves their enemies to walk away?” he crossed his arms. Hermione narrowed her eyes, recalling the plot.

 

“Malfoy, I think you haven’t been paying enough attention to this film.”

 

“I assure you, Granger, that I have.”

 

“And I am sure that you haven't and that you could use a more thorough viewing.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she responded in kind.

 

“The couch is there,” he said suddenly.

 

“What do you mean, the couch is there?” she asked. Was he actually suggesting that they watch the film?

 

“I mean, the couch is over there. The best place to see the telly,” he stated the obvious again, doing his best to be really annoying.

 

“Malfoy,” she said pointedly. “I came here to work.”

 

Which was her plan. She could hear the sounds of their children coming from one of the rooms down the hall. Judging by the pitch of the voices, the bursts of laughter and occasional shouts, they were engrossed in a game.

 

“Granger, my head is going to _explode_ if I spend yet another day going through list of confiscated items from location two - hundred – twenty – four. It won't run away. But my sanity may permanently leave me. Besides, I've spent entire day answering your daughter's questions.”

 

“Well, this is a first,” she crossed her arms, trying not to laugh. His offer was tempting thought, as was his couch covered with cushions, in comparison to any kind of desk filled with piles of paperwork. “You, admitting weakness,” she said as she walked toward the couch. Watching him fumble with Muggle technology was one of those sights she needed time to process, but it seemed he was doing it efortlessly, like he did everything else.

 

“I'm not admitting weakness. I'm simply being prudent,” he sat on the couch as well, a comfortable distance between them.

 

“Perhaps you're right. I'm not sure I want to learn what you'd be like without your sanity. You're a prat as it is.”

 

“Oh, do keep insulting me,” he said as the film was beginning.

 

“I'm not insulting you, I'm stating a fact.”

 

“Are you aware that, if you continue, the hug brigade is going to be after us?”

 

“I'm going to continue if you don't keep quiet. You suggested that we watch a film, let me watch it,” she said. She could see, from the corner of her eye the corner of his lips tugging upwards. She was unsuccessful to hide a smile. Feeling amused and pleasant, Hermione settled deeper into the cushions behind her back and focused on the film.

 

*

 

“I still think that was pretty unreasonable,” after little over two hours of mostly silent watching Draco seemed to snap out of his world.

 

“What exactly did you find unreasonable?”

 

“The Saladin bloke had the chance of killing his enemies,” there was slight discomfort in his voice. “Yet he let them go.”

 

“Well, I don't think that killing was his goal, actually,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “He achieved his political goal. He won Jerusalem and deemed that killing more people than necessary was something he didn't want to do.”

 

“And they sent more warriors back after him, didn't they?”

 

Hermione sighed slightly.

 

“Yes they did. But not the man he spared, he didn't do that. Others did,” she pointed out. Draco sunk lower into the cushions with a frown fixed on his face. “I also think Saladin knew what to expect. He doesn’t seem naïve, he’s simply refusing to give up on his sense of honor.”

 

“But on a grand scheme of things, what did his honorable act matter?”

 

“It did, I think. I think it mattered, and I think it’s meant for us to watch him keep his honor and learn from it,” she said, and he thoughtfully observed her. “And he is not a reckless leader. He gained respect because he knew how to respect. I believe he spared the young knight because he found him to be a similar person of honour.”

 

Hermione regarded Draco who remained silent and thoughtful.

 

“This film isn't made to give you answers, but to make you think,” she smiled.

 

“That probably explains why it isn't fun,” he huffed.

 

“Well, it's addressing important issues. Like individual responsibility for your own actions. I think it's supposed to be more serious than fun.”

 

He hummed, staring at the screen as the credits rolled toward the end.

 

<cite> _A king may move a man_ -</cite> she started to quote.

 

“I get the point,” his tone was suddenly stern.

 

“I'm not trying to preach, Malfoy,” she said quietly. For a such guarded man, he was turning out to be predictable. He would pull back at the first sight of an uncomfortable topic, which gave hermione more insight into him than he would possibly be comfortable with. It took her some time, but she did learn how to read the glimpses that appeared through the cracks. She never pushed at those cracks, though.

 

“Well, Granger. There's one thing I can agree with,” he said quietly.

 

“What is that?”

 

“The world does decide who we are and what becomes of us.”

 

The discomfort spread through her fingertips, leaving her feeling discontent. Being around an unguarded, thoughtful Draco was rare. She had gotten used to him, she could understand him better, but she did not _know_ him. There was more to him that she did know about, something painful he was carefully guarding. Hermione paused her breath, not sure what to say. It felt somehow wrong to leave this conversation like that. She believed that people could change and be redeemed. Draco was probably faced with a different kind of attitude very often, and she could understand his distrust, but she could also understand the people not trusting him, or someone like him.

 

Just like the film, she had no answer to offer. He wouldn't accept empty words, he easily saw through those.

 

She settled on a gesture. Her hand covered his, enough to gently grasp his long fingers and squeeze. His look was serious, filled with too many things to pick them apart and give them names. She could feel him briefly returning the hold.

 

“I fear that sometimes it does. But sometimes it doesn't,” she said and smiled.

 

 

 

*

 

 

**_Part Six_ **

 

 

 

Draco collapsed onto his sofa and stared at the bottle of Firewhiskey in front of him.

 

“Merlin and Morgana,” he breathed and reached for the drink. He poured a small amount into the glass and knocked it down, then let it burn its way down the column of his spine as he attempted not to think about the disaster back at the Manor.

 

Was he a too diplomatic as a parent? Incapable of teaching his son proper manners? Perhaps he should have been strict, like his father? Should he have made a list of things his son shouldn't say or do?

 

 _No, of course not_ , because he didn't want to be a tyrant that his father sometimes was, but Scorpius had really pushed his chances today. Okay, that was an understatement. The boy embarrassed him; if he ever did that. While he was wondering why on earth had his mother invited Millicent Blustrode to lunch ( _Seriously mother? You think I can't do any better?_ ) his son went out of his way to tell Millicent that he did not like her, therefore she couldn't marry his daddy. There was a distinct _clank_ when Lucius Malfoy dropped his spoon into his plate. Draco opened his mouth to prevent further disaster, but what Millicent did was prompt his son to explain himself.

 

_Well I don't like you, and besides my daddy already likes someone else._

 

Draco didn't have to suffer that kind of mutual parental stare since he accidentally set professor Snape's  potions supplies on fire. When Draco didn't offer any kind of substantial explanation, his mother turned to her grandson.

 

“And who is this lady that daddy likes?” she asked, smiling pleasantly. Scorpius hesitated, but at last he spilled his little secret, completing the disaster.

 

“Hermione,” he said, nodding seriously.

 

It was a lucky coincidence that dining room chairs were so stable. Nobody fell off, although the possibility was sizeable.

 

 _I don't want to talk about it_ , he said to his mother when she asked him was it the truth. Draco grabbed his son's hand and they were gone through the Floo before his father could utter _Slytherin_.

 

Right now, in the silence of his living room, he was contemplating the glass in his hand as if it could give him an answer. What was the bloody truth anyway? That he was spending more time with Granger than, possibly anyone else, save Scorpius? That their children were best friends? That she still annoyed the hell outta him, but when she was out with the children, he was bored doing paperwork all alone?

 

“I think you should marry Hermione, daddy,” Scorpius had told him seriously that evening while Draco was putting him to bed.

 

“And why should I do that, son?” Draco should have been annoyed, but he wasn't. He was nervous instead. He didn't want to explain to his father what gave Scorpius these ideas.

 

Not that he was feeling guilty of something, but Scorpius had gotten used to Hermione and Rose. Being with them was usually the highpoint of his day. Granger was a decent conversational sparring partner. He was never bored around her. She knew the best books. When she invited him and Scorpius for a weekend in Ireland he accepted. She was off to do some research in couple of very old libraries; he was going to take care of the kids, right? Right. And he did spend the mornings running around with two of their children. The late summer was warm, and nobody in those Muggle towns knew them. The lady who sold ice cream on the corner of their hotel told him he had _lovely little ones_. He didn't bother correcting her. He also didn't care admitting how he felt when Granger introduced him as her friend.

 

The glass in his hand didn't offer him an answer that would put his mind to rest.

 

“Hermione likes you, daddy,” Scorpius had said, after he had settled down into his bed.

 

“I fear you might be mistaken, son. I think she finds me annoying most of the time,” he smirked easily, stroking the boy's hair.

 

“Oh, no, that's not true.”

 

“How would you know, Scorp?”

 

“Because she always listens to you and smiles when you're not watching. That's what Miss Abbott does when Mister Longbottom comes to visit and she thinks he isn't watching her. Maybe you should bring Hermione flowers. Miss Abbott likes flowers.”

 

“Scorp, I don't think Hermione likes me that way.”

 

“But why, daddy? She always makes you coffee and rubs your back when you say you're tired.”

 

Draco had to admit, the boy had pretty good arguments. Wait, wait, _wait_. Did Granger really rub his back?

 

Oh. _Oh._ There was that. And there was that time when they had fallen asleep on his couch while they watched a film. Draco woke up hours later, with a sleepy Granger leaning against him. He carefully got up and made sure she didn't fall over. Covering her felt a bit like covering a child. He tucked her in, tucked her hair behind her ear, and told himself that staring at her as she slept was creepy, and that he should go someplace else. He found the children in Scorpius' room, sound asleep. Rose was clutching a picture book that he gently took and put away.

 

In the morning Granger had made them breakfast and coffee and coca. It wasn't awkward, not very much. They left the children in the daycare and went into the elevator together. So, really, was his son getting crazy ideas?

 

“I know, son. But we're simply being nice to each other,” he did his best to put all of this into reasonable perspective for the boy. No, he couldn't just point with a finger and pick a mum. No matter how... nice the thought of it was.

 

No, he shouldn't think like that.

 

“But being nice is good,” Scorpius wasn't about to give up.

 

Draco sighed, feeling exasperated. Did he even want to be undefeated in this argument?

 

“Yes, it is, son. But you see... me and Hermione might not be very good for each other. We didn't like each other very much when we were young.”

 

“But you like each other now.”

 

 

Scorpius continued, observing his father with sleepy eyes.

 

“Besides, Hermione always says everyone deserves a _secondly_ chance.”

 

“Does she now?” he smiled. “And, it's _second_ chance. Not secondly.”

 

“Uh huh,” Scorpius was pulling his cover up to his chin. “You really should give Hermione a second chance, daddy,” was the last thing the boy said before he yawned, rolled onto his side and fell asleep, not convinced that his father and Hermione Granger hated each other. Or used to, at least. He had it all worked out in his little head and it made sense, he found a fitting candidate whom Draco was supposed to hate. Only those were the outdated facts.

 

Draco was staring at the glass in his hand. If things were only that simple, he thought, setting the glass aside. He unbuttoned the left sleeve of his shirt and neatly rolled it up. He couldn't simply get what he wanted, could he now? He stared at the faded scar on his arm. Not that _this_ was his biggest wish ever, but once he received the Mark, it wasn't going to go away. And thus, the world got to decide. Hermione Granger was a war hero. Draco Malfoy was a former Death Eater. They could be nice to each other all they wanted, but nobody could erase the facts.

 

 

*

 

Draco hated the feeling of the stiff and impeccable dress suit on his body. Ministry galas, receptions, dinners, ceremonies; the dress code, gossip and seating arrangements, he hated the whole package of publicized hypocrisy. Not going wasn't an option. Not going would be exactly what Anthony Goldstein would enjoy, wouldn't he? it would also be a disservice to Granger at any rate.

 

“Are you two done, finally?” Draco chanced a look at Potter and his wife. It seemed like she was intent to hex the hair off his head. Draco was losing the little patience that he had left as he waited for them to be done. Potter insisted on this little scheme. They'd go together. That was nice of Potter, though completely unnecessary. Draco was more than capable of rudely staring back at people who wanted to make him uncomfortable.

 

“Ginny, it's fine,” Potter complained.

 

“It's never _fine_ , but at this point I give up,” she said, smoothing her burgundy dress. “Well, look at you, Malfoy. You clean up nicely.”

 

“I am always clean, dear Weaslette.”

 

“Actually, it's Potter. For quite some time now. Catch up,” Ginny smirked amusedly. “Hermione should be here at any moment -”

 

There was a loud crack behind their backs. Granger apparated into their living room, and she was talking even before Draco was able to turn around.

 

“I am so sorry, Ginny, I couldn't find my – oh hello, Malfoy,” she said as he turned around and their eyes had met.

 

Someone had cast _Arresto Momentum_. It had to be the cause of the time stopping in Draco's head. He knew Granger possessed decent looks but she was never this -

 

“Shall we?”

 

Ginny asked. Draco stared because it was hard not to. Granger had a flattering, knee length, form fitting dress with lots of lace. Something happened to her hair, a definite change for the better. It looked soft and sort of … inviting. He could see half of her legs, exposed. Not that he didn't know that she had a nice pair of legs, but this was like seeing them properly for the first time. Or, perhaps, becoming aware of things he had known for a pretty long time.

 

What was that thing his son had told him not long ago?

 

“Malfoy? Is something wrong?” she asked when she noticed his stare.

_Hermione likes you and you like Hermione._

 

“Uh, no,” he said, and his voice didn't sound normal. Potter and his wife shared a look. “I almost didn't recognize you, Granger.”

 

That was a blatant lie, of course.

 

“Classy,” she said and smiled, and it was actually a pretty smile. She was close enough to see that all of her teeth were straight, and that she had small freckles. Looking into her eyes did something strange to his chest.

 

“Malfoy,” She - Potter rudely interrupted his train of thought. “You were the one impatient for us to go. What are we waiting for now?”

 

He didn't want to go, no thank you. He didn't want to be surrounded with dumbasses, minister's suck – ups and politic sharks. He would prefer staying here and continuing his inspection. He was about to say something in return, something witty and smart, but Granger grabbed him under his arm.

 

“We're all ready to go, aren't we, Draco?” she said, and he found that, yes, he was suddenly very ready to go wherever she would take him. And that was so, _so_ not good.

 

 

*

 

The entire affair was disastrously boring, of course. Not that Hermione expected anything differently. These events went by a predictable pattern, they were nothing more than a game one had to play correctly. There was little excitement, save for Neville not being able to handle his drink. George Weasley thought that was a hilarious thing and made fun of Neville, who didn't complain much.

 

She was asked a lot about the project she was working on. At first she made effort explaining why it was important, but it didn't take her long to realize that she was left explaining why Draco was important. Too many people were more interested in the completely unthinkable possibility that Draco Malfoy was doing something useful. She met understanding in Harry's gaze more often than she cared to admit. It felt like she was fighting a pointless battle.

 

“Granger. You are going to glare a hole in that glass,” Draco sat across from her after she was done standing and circling around the hall, tired of being polite.

 

“No, Malfoy, I am going to empty it,” she said, and followed through on her promise. She was done having civil conversations.

 

“Uh, huh, Granger. What happened? Were you fighting windmills?”

 

She smirked over the rim of her glass. “Was that a Muggle reference yet again?”

 

He rolled his eyes at her. “What do you think?”

 

“I think I may have wasted this evening,” she said looking at her manicured hands. She had put effort into her looks tonight, telling herself that it wasn't out of the ordinary. That she wanted to leave a good impression, that it was good for her work.

 

That it had nothing to do with the look Draco was giving her now; the one that made her warm from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes.

 

“Didn't you convince entire wizarding public that we are going to make their surroundings safe at the record time?”

 

Months before she might have thought he was mocking her, but now she knew he was mocking everyone else. She was at her third glass of wine and considering the fact that she didn't have a lot to eat, she was beginning to feel the effect of the drink. Not that she was drunk. The buzz in her head was pleasant, and everything around her seemed somehow askew. Like a tilted frame of a painting.

 

“I may have failed you, you know,” she answered.

 

“Merlin and Morgana, did I hear you right? You say you failed at something?”

 

“Uh – huh, I think you did her me right. I think it's really sad. I am giving up on these people here. There, I said it,” she leaned back in her chair and watched him, like he needed a challenge. She noticed that had loosened his bow tie at some point. It was sitting askew under his neck, an unusual contrast on his otherwise impeccable appearance.

 

Hermione found herself trying to determine what was so different about him yet again. There was something. She had this strong feeling that something just didn't add up, just like the bow tie under his chin. Something heavy, almost soft, dark and guilty in his eyes. The look he was giving her was making her curious. It was also making him beautiful. She leaned forward, her hands intent to fix the skewed piece of clothing, because she needed to fix something. She could tell she caught him by surprise, but he didn't oppose. Their stares were mutually trapped in the moment, with her hands stroking the ends of the silk sitting at his neck.

 

“Granger,” he said quietly, “you might cause a scandal.”

 

“You know what, Malfoy,” she released his tie, but didn't move away. “I'm a damn war hero. I wouldn't be one if I feared scandals,” she smirked.

 

“Is that so?” his eyes were amused. She was starting to feel warm. Very warm. It had to be the wine.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” she nodded. “You know what else is too bad, Malfoy?”

 

“I don't have a slightest clue.”

 

“While I was convincing people that you, in fact, aren't a spawn of evil in disguise, but a decent curse breaker – only sometimes annoying as hell – I haven't danced. At all,” she said. She was being half serious about this. Ever since Ron was gone she didn't care for dancing at these events. Her tongue was quicker than her mind, though, and she realized that she had issued a challenge before the sentence was over.

 

“Granger,” Draco's grin turned cocky and overconfident, and it _shouldn't_ have looked attractive. “What are you attempting to do here?”

 

“Why, cause a scandal, of course. War hero dancing with the Ex Death Eater. Can't you imagine the headlines?”

 

His eyes turned darker and filled with something that should have scared her. He looked at her almost like he wanted her.

 

“I can imagine my father choking on his morning tea,” he said dryly, but his eyes didn't lose their intensity.

 

“I'd pay to see that.”

 

“Then someone has to take photographs tomorrow, I guess,” he said. There was his hand, hanging in the air, waiting for hers. Something tickled her inside of her chest, a notion she couldn't put to words just yet. Draco looked as if he were holding his breath, as if asking her for a dance was a risk. She took three mental steps backwards, realizing why her evening was so difficult. Didn't she insist that she wasn't taking sides, every time he accused her of doing so? And she didn't want to, because she wanted the world to be fair. They defeated unthinkable evil, they were cleaning up its leftovers, didn't they deserve a fair world?

 

Hermione swallowed. Then she placed her hand in his, slowly and deliberately. Taking sides was supposed to be a conscious decision, wasn't it? He swallowed. His long, fine fingers wrapped around her hand.

 

“And now what, Granger?”

 

“Now we may as well get up and dance, Malfoy,” she said.

 

*

 

“I'm _not_ looking for a better world, Granger. Just a world in which I'm left alone.”

 

“Oh, but, _Malfoy_. How can you say that, after everything you've already done?”

 

Draco looked at her good and long. He had lost the track of time, he didn't really care what time it was anyway. They had abandoned the Ministry's reception for a Muggle café with a separate compartment and unobtrusive music after everyone had a good look at two of them, dancing. He had felt more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. This arrangement was better and more to his taste. Draco played with his coffee cup. It didn't help with the halfway inebriated state of his mind, but he felt that didn't matter either.

 

“I'm not aiming to become a bloody hero.”

 

“Nobody is asking you to,” she said. He snorted. She still didn't understand, didn't she? Not even after the evening she had spent defending – dear Merlin – defending his honour. She was sitting next to him on this small bench. He had given her his jacket to fend off the cold air, which was a noble act on his part, considering that the night was chilly.

 

“Not something you'd get,” he said.

 

“Really?” her eyes turned a liquid, fiery shade of brown. “I've seen what you are and what you're not, Malfoy. You shouldn't be defending yourself until eternity, and people should realize that. People should realize that change is possible, that redemption is real,” her cheeks were getting a shade of lovely red. Her fierce little rant was a wasted attempt to convince him that he actually counted, that someone would give a shit if he ever needed help.

 

“No, y _ou_ believe that. Others will pick up their Daily Prophets tomorrow and read about you and me dancing together and wonder what the hell happened. Whether I put you under Imperius or threatened to kill a horde of house elves.”

 

“I resent that, Malfoy. I resent that, because I happen to care.”

 

“About me? How sweet of you,” he said, ignoring the fact that her face looked frustrated, but at the same time there was fondness in her eyes. Or, perhaps, he was simply mistaken and drunk. “It probably makes you the only one.”

 

“I disagree,” she said. Was she getting riled up on his behalf, or was he drunker than he realized?

 

“Granger,” he begun, slowly taking in the air. “I'm the bastard who tried to kill Dumbledore. I'm the bastard who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, remember?”

 

“No, you _were_ that bastard. Now you're the bastard who insists on bigger security for Aurors and other Ministry workers when they're sent onto dangerous tasks, and I wish -”

 

She stopped. There was something painful and raw in her look. She gripped his hand, tightly.

 

“What?” he asked breathlessly.

 

“Nothing,” she replied after moments of tight silence. Her eyes were frantically searching his. “A bad man cannot raise a good son,” she said in a sudden, soft tone.

 

“This son will have to deal with my unfortunate name. I prefer raising him strong.”

 

“You already are, Draco.”

 

“People won't care, Granger. I fear there are more people like me, than like you, around.”

 

“And I think you are being too pessimistic. I think what most people need is time-”

 

He snorted. “Time won't help me, Granger.”

 

“Why are you so hard on yourself? So determined to put yourself down and – and -”

 

She stopped, seemingly at loss for words. Draco's brain was too slow to properly determine the purpose of her hands on either side of his face.

 

“I -” he started, but her mouth was on his, and his mind had fully stopped. He closed his eyes feeling the soft pressure, the pull of her lips, the way she climbed into his lap and pressed her palms against the back of his head.

 

She was kissing him, slowly, intently, with kind of relentless curiosity that was so much like her. The kiss was starting to make him dizzy. She was small in his arms, soft skin and fine lace under his fingertips, and curious, insistent lips against his. He pulled her closer, feeling something inside of his chest give in and unlock, a vulnerable void hidden behind choices and caution.

 

She stopped as suddenly as she started kissing him, her huge, dark eyes boring into his.

 

“What?” he breathed into her mouth. _Damn it._ He didn't want to stop.

 

“I – I think that we shouldn't do this while drunk,” he blinked, slowly processing her words. They were breathing hard and his body was definitely waking up. She caressed his face, her thumb sliding across his bottom lip. “Because I don't want you to regret this when you're sober. I don't want to regret this,” she breathed against his lips and kissed him again, and Merlin, it felt so good.

 

“I don't think I'll regret this, Granger,” he said when they pulled apart. It was suddenly so clear. His drunken mind found this sharp, focused realization which he couldn't see before, that this was something happening naturally instead of being chosen for him. He had choices now, didn't he? He had choices and all the damn time in the world. How could he regret doing this, then?

 

“Good,” she answered before he could kiss her once more, make her part her lips and open her mouth for him. He was drowning in the feel of her, and she was pulling him closer. The lack of air made his chest hurt, but it felt so good, unlike most things he experienced recently.

 

“I don't want to be awkward around you tomorrow, Malfoy.” she breathed, her face pressed against his.

 

He smiled blindly, happily, because it was good to be drunk and carefree and kiss Hermione goddamn Granger, and let her blow his mind. “Then don't be,” he said, losing control of his tongue. “Please, don't be.”

 

 

*

 

**_Part Seven_ **

 

 

Draco was familiar with after effects of having too much to drink. The sobering potion he had this morning removed the headache, but there was still that echo of something warm and tickling in his chest. It had a tendency of expanding every time he looked at Granger.

 

 _Allright,_ he asked while they were walking down the hall, and she blushed a little and said _allright_. They walked like that to Potter's office, her trying not to blush, him sporting a smirk. Potter seemed to be less dense than usual and had asked what the joke was. Draco dismissed the question as Granger tried not to blush even more.

 

Potter gave them a bunch of parchments, official forms and handwritten reports on next ten properties they were supposed to inspect. They discussed each site, agreed on a schedule and new report forms.

 

Just before they headed out Potter wished them luck, and as usual, told them to be careful.

 

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Draco was feeling exceptionally lucky.

 

He couldn't predict how the day would turn around.

 

*

 

At later point of time, Hermione would realize she could have never know what was waiting on the dusty, seemingly empty attic. They were a capable team, she and Draco, and she learned to trust him more quickly than she had expected. He was as thorough as always, and she wasn't careless herself, but something she'd done had activated the curse, something like an invisible snare clamping all around her. Her strangled call brought him running to her. She couldn't move – she realized she couldn't speak either, and her breathing was becoming more difficult, as if something invisible was pressing her down, and into the hard floor. That was how Draco found her, fighting to breathe.

 

Draco muttered a string of swearwords, moving closer to her. He was on the ground next to her but she hadn't _seen_ how he got there, how he approached and crouched down. The edge of her vision was blurring. The curse was about to strangle her on this floor, on the dusty attic of an unknown house, away from her family, from her daughter.

 

“Granger,” he groaned out, moving above her and lifting her head. She realized she couldn't even feel where he touched her. “Look at me. _Look at me_ , Granger!”

 

It had taken effort. He was shouting, calling her to focus her attention onto him. There was panic in his voice, and his eyes were hard and dark. It had taken all of her strength keep her eyes open and keep breathing.

 

“Listen to me. _Listen to me_ , dammit! I will help you, but you have to do _exactly what I tell you_. You'll have ten minutes, maybe less. You have to take me to St. Mugo's,” he pressed something in her hand, hard, “and if Potter isn't there already, you have to get him there. That is a portkey. Less than ten minutes, Granger,” he said. She was fighting to keep conscious with all her might. She heard him call for his Patronus, she saw a blur of silver as he told it to find Harry Potter and bring him to St Mungo's immediately. The animal she couldn't recognize disappeared, and Draco started muttering unfamiliar enchantments. Hermione could barely hear him, she couldn't make out his words, all of her mental effort was focused on one thing – to breathe and to stay alive. Something cold settled over her right hand that was pressed against her chest and in the next moment she felt Draco's hand take it.

 

“ _Conteram tenere,”_ she heard him speak. It felt like she had broken through the ice that was trying to squeeze the life out of her just a moment ago. She gasped and Draco collapsed halfway on top of her and she realized that whatever was holding her had taken a hold of him now. “Granger,” he managed, coughing, and his eyes were filled with fear. Not panic, not pain, but fear. “Scorpius,” he managed. “ _Please._ ”

 

There was no time. Whatever the curse was, he had broken it and taken it from her, possibly placing some protective spells onto himself before he overtook the deathly grip of magic. He was choking, just like she was a moment ago. Hermione could finally think clearly, and her mind raced to Rose, to Ron, to the little boy in the daycare waiting to hug his father.

 

 _Portkey_. It was still clutched between their hands. Most of the Ministry issued Portkeys to St. Mungo's were charmed to react if gripped tightly. She squeezed the tiny object in her hand, and held Draco with the other. The last thing she felt, before she was pulled into the darkness, was Draco's desperate grip.

 

*

 

 

Hermione disliked the feeling  of having no control over the things happening to her, or the people that mattered to her. She couldn't pinpoint the moment when Draco Malfoy had risen into that category of fellow human beings. It was a slow succession of moments sneaking up at her. She got used to his presence, became amused by his snippy remarks, memorized his mannerisms. She found out he had a bookshelf filled with books about the wars; all Muggle wars he could get his hands on. He read them like he was looking for answers.

 

She had kissed him last night. She might have not been thinking clearly, but she remembered wanting to do that. It felt good, like taking in air after staying underwater for too long. She still needed to figure that out. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was simpler than she cared to think, because, when the healers took him away from her, all she could think of was him. The hollow, numb space inside her chest felt like on fire, like reinventing itself with new kind of pain.

 

Harry appeared and she was grateful for his hug. For his steady presence. She crossed the cracks between them, small sutures in the living flesh of their friendship and held on for all that it was worth.

 

“He's going to be okay,” Harry whispered in an old, heavy voice. And, “You just saved his life.”

 

“And he saved mine,” Hermione said, realizing how tight her grip on him was.

 

In the time of war the news of people dying was accompanied with numbness, like getting accustomed to the darkness around you. In times of peace, it was like someone taking her eyesight away. She had recovered, managing to sleep without nightmares on most of the nights. But there were certain dates on a calendar; the dates that remembered themselves. The old wounds were safe beneath old scars, until they were pressed. Rose could have lost her mother. Scorpius could have lost his father.

 

She could have lost Draco.

 

“He's asking to see you,” Harry said when she had finally relaxed. “He just woke up.”

 

“Harry,” she took a deep breath. “What – what was that?”

 

A shadow passed his face. The divide was back, the space and knowledge of things he possessed and she did not. She understood that secrets were part of his job. That he couldn't tell her everything he knew, everything he faced. Still it was unsettling, and it made her even more lonely, and sometimes like she was losing him as well.

 

“It was a modified choking curse. Designed to kill in a very painful way,” Harry's eyes were heavy, bloodshot and tired. The sole look he was giving her made him seem older. She had a distinct feeling that this was not all, that there was more. “I will explain it to you later, I promise. Just not now. When we have time,” he said, kissing her forehead again.

 

“Okay,” she agreed. “Where is he?”

 

“I'll take you,” Harry said.

 

It was a short walk. Draco was pale, and had looked weak, but he was alive.

 

“Granger,” he said hoarsely. “You look awful.”

 

She almost laughed, imagining that what he was saying was true. There was no telling what kind of state her hair was in, but she didn't care. The relief, the gratitude, the happiness – it was overwhelming. He was alive. He managed to curve his lips in a smile, and that was enough for her not to care about anything else.

 

“Well, that's a lame attempt of deflecting my possible questions,” she neared the bed, impatient and not entirely concerned about the fact that Harry was there, that he could hear her weepy tone. “How are you?”

 

“About the same way you look,” he said. When he lifted a hand she took it without thinking.

 

“You scared me.” Uncensored. Open. Completely honest.

 

“Did I? You freaked the shit outta _me_.”

 

“Looks like your lovely language is still intact,” she managed to tease.

 

“Thank Merlin. I don't know what I would do without it.”

 

There was a moment, tight and heavy, when she had lost the train of thought. She found herself searching his face; familiar lines that looked like he had aged too quickly, as if he acquired distinct seriousness overnight. Like it had happened long time ago; reminding her of a rock cracked and curved by the sea; bent and unwillingly shaped. It felt like she had noticed _this_ for the first time, the impact of years, and things he had to live with; things he did and failed to do, and choices that were forced upon him. The boy who had to grow into a man without anyone to guide him, but he managed to catch himself and find a way that worked.

 

“I think you'd manage,” she said softly, realizing that her hand was still on top of his, the same hand he grasped to save her life. Her childhood enemy, the boy who hated her and she hated him, or at least that was what they believed.

 

“Would you pick up Scorpius?” his voice was different, still strained, but his tone heavier. He was always so strikingly different when the boy was concerned.

 

Was she honestly still wondering which Draco was the real one? The witty, mouthy man who rudely snapped at Anthony Goldstein at every chance he got, or the man who took their children for walks and made sure their shoelaces were properly tied? Wasn't he all those many things confusingly wrapped into one single person? Didn't the experience of parenthood change him, just like it changed her? Was it a reason too ordinary, too prosaic to explain him?

 

“Don't worry. I'll take care of him. Just... get better.”

 

“Don't call my parents,” he was coughing. Hermione squeezed his hand tighter, leaned closer.

 

“Okay. I won't. Though, I think they should know. I think it's time for you to rest,” she was pulling up his blankets, stroking his hair back from his forehead and still staring into his eyes.

 

“I'm not really sober, Granger,” he said, moving his hand to her arm. His reflexes shouldn't have been so good, she shouldn't have stared at him like this, but his eyes were unguarded. She remained close as he held onto her. “They gave me the good stuff. For the pain,” his eyes were losing focus. A shaky finger moved the hair away from her face, knuckles trailed down along her cheek, and he smiled lazily. She caught his other hand and they were holding onto each other.

 

“I'm glad you're not in pain, then,” she said.

 

“I think I want a good night kiss,” he said.

 

“You really are not sober,” she whispered.

 

“I still want it,” he was stubborn, like a tired child that wouldn't go to sleep.

 

“Fine,” she conceded. His forehead was sweaty, and she could hear a soft noise he made. Hermione tired to ignore the fluttering inside her chest and failed; and her lips were against Draco's skin longer than necessary.

 

“Cheater,” he said.

 

“Get better,” she answered. He smirked tiredly.

 

“Is that a bribe?” Hopeful. Funny. Like a lighter version of him. “What do I get?”

 

“You're becoming delusional, Malfoy,” she said, teasing, but hardly convinced herself. Not able to help it, and beyond caring what it all meant, she leaned in and kissed him again, on the lips. He exhaled a soft puff of air against her skin.

 

“Don't tell Scorp -”

 

“Don't worry,” she said. She could tell his mind was slowly being claimed by sleep potion. “I'll take care of him,” she added.

 

“Yeah,” there was an almost smile on his lips. “He was right.”

 

She couldn't ask what he had meant, because he went out like a light. She had felt like she had woken up – and had realized that at some point Harry had left them alone.

 

*

 

“Well, well. I'm surprised you honestly thought I wouldn't find out,” Draco opened his eyes to a familiar tone of his father's voice. He sounded and looked calm, sitting next to his hospital bed. Draco realized that he had been asleep, and that the entire ordeal had taken out of him more than he thought. “Or rather, your friends aren't as sneaky as you would want them to be.”

 

“Hello, father,” he rubbed his face, not particularly in the mood for this visit.

 

What were they supposed to say to each other? _How are you, son? Fine, you know, father, you had almost killed me, you know? Second time, as the matter of fact. That curse of yours was pretty nasty business. Did you leave lot of that stuff around?_

 

Instead, Lucius studied him intently.

 

“I heard you saved your colleague yesterday,” he said finally.

 

Draco pressed his lips together. “Yes,” he said. This was precisely the topic he didn't want to discuss.

 

Lucius nodded slowly. “There was quite a coverage in the Daily Prophet,” he added. “It makes you sound a bit like a hero, actually.”

 

Draco covered his eyes. “Good grief.”

 

“Your mother,” Lucius leaned back into the chair, his tone suspiciously sounding like he was thoroughly amused, “was first beside herself, of course. Potter showed up then, and told her at length what happened. Which is why we decided it was best to wait.” Of course. You shouldn't show up immediately after someone was almost killed by a curse _you_ invented and left in a former Death Eater house, right? 

 

Lucius didn't seem bothered by any of this, but at this point Draco was beginning to suspect it was a charade. His father was master of it. “But, I digress. Your mother seems to think you will be much more desirable now that you have attained a reputation of a hero,” a corner of his lips tilted upwards. Draco groaned and rolled his eyes.

 

“Father, are you certain you're not here to make me feel worse?”

 

“Quite the contrary, my son,” he said. There was something unfamiliar about the way he used those words, _my son_. Draco turned to take a better look at him, his eyes meeting familiar blue – grey, with more lines on Lucius' face then he seemed to remember. “I think it's time we have a serious conversation.”

 

“Oh, good grief. What about?”

 

“Things that matter. Like marriage,” Lucius made a tactic pause. “I find it slightly ironic, that your mother is insisting that you marry.”

 

“Mother seems to think that is something I need. I don't,” Draco was refusing to think about his previous visit to Manor. Lucius raised an eyebrow like he was challenging him to prove what he was saying.

 

“Your mother wants the best for you,” he folded his hands over his walking cane. How many awful things were wrapped in that particular excuse? “As do I, son.”

 

“Father, if you are going to lecture me about tradition -”

 

Life, blood purity, entitlement, or some other, similar shit.

 

Lucius raised his hand with more patience than Draco remembered him having.

 

“Despite what you think of me, son, I _am_ older and wiser,” Draco wanted to sink deeper in the pillow nestled under his head. “And you will hear me out,” Lucius continued as he shifted in the chair. He had to be in pain, but despite being in a hospital, he would never mention it. Draco sighed, his eyes searching the ceiling. In truth, he had more similarities with his father than he cared to admit, and pretty much all of his unpleasant traits came from this man. “I know what your mother is doing and I know why she is doing it,” he began.

 

“Father,” Draco sighed. “Could we not talk in riddles, considering my current state.”

 

“Very well, son,” Lucius raised an eyebrow and his expression turned uncomfortable. “I agree with your mother, that you should marry again.”

 

“Oh, Merlin. Here we go.”

 

“And I will tell you _why_ I agree with her, and you will hear me out, like the respectful son that you are,” the elder Malfoy gave his son a stern look. “I believe that men aren't suited to be single parents. That women are better at this task by far,” he begun and Draco was about to tell him just how much he disagreed, but his father raised a finger, an eyebrow joining it. “Which is where I'll pause to observe how many times you've proved me wrong. But that is not my point, Draco. My point is that you are a grown man, and that very soon you will find out what it means to put your child on a Hogwarts train and return to your empty home. Don't give me that look. I did raise you, boy. I know what it feels like to go back home and _not_ be alone, and Merlin knows I do not want to learn what the other alternative feels like.”

 

At this point, Draco was staring at his father, a man who looked the same as Lucius Malfoy that had raised him. But this particular version of his father had never talked to him, until now.

 

“Which brings me to this,” his stare turned serious. “Don't listen to your mother this time. Don't listen to me.”

 

“ _Father_ ,” Draco's tone was halfway scandalized. Lucius Malfoy rubbed his face tiredly.

 

“Oh, for Merlin's sake, boy. You knew very well what that curse was like. I -”

 

That was about as far as they would get discussing that. Lucius looked at him with heavy eyes, and if there was ever an apology that had passed between them, this was it. The moment when his father admitted he was wrong. He'd done wrong.

 

“Mildly put, father,” Draco answered quietly. Lucius nodded, looking like a parent that almost had lost his child. “It was the second time, actually.”

 

“I _know_ that. And you still did what you did, instead of simply portkeying her here, did you?”Draco could hear weak remainders of anger in his tone. “Because you don't want simple or convenient, or even appropriate,” he rubbed his eyes again, looking more guilty than Draco had ever seen him. “You've been lucky the first time around, even if you do not believe in luck.”

 

Draco remained silent. Lucius pressed his lips together, looking uncharacteristically subdued, sad, much older than Draco ever noticed before.

 

“Very well, Draco. As I said, you are a grown man. Act like one,” he began to rise from the chair, trying to assemble his usual impassive mask. There were still cracks in it. He looked at Draco once more. Then he said the unthinkable. “Marry the person who will be _right_ for _you_. If there is one that you want to marry.”

 

And with that, Malfoy the older walked out, leaving his son with a discomfort that didn't have much to do with the headache he was feeling.

 

 

*

 

“Merlin's pants. How many annoying visitors am I going to get?”

 

“Oh, I don't know, Malfoy. Considering how welcoming you are, I'm assuming none,” Harry glared at him. Draco eyed the contents of Harry's arms. The basked looked like something from Molly Weasley's kitchen.

 

“What is all that? And flowers? I didn't know you fancied me, Potter,” he let Harry come into his apartment.

 

“Those are from Ginny. I'm not sure if she fancies you, though,” Harry looked at the bouquet he was holding in his left hand. “Perhaps these are poisonous, or turn into something really dangerous, you know.”

 

Draco accepted the flowers, thoroughly frowning at them. “I sincerely doubt they're dangerous. Because that would be sneaky.”

 

“Always so classy, aren't you?”

 

“Yes, I am. Unlike some,” they walked towards the living room. Draco did his best to walk at his usual pace, but the pain in his left leg was still too great. The healers in St. Mungo's told him he could count with permanent and recurring trouble with the leg. Dark magic left traces. Draco knew that very well. He was done breaking this particular curse if he wanted to live.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“I've been worse,” Draco answered briefly.

 

“Hermione said she can pick up Scorpius tomorrow and have him over at her place. If you need some rest, that is.”

 

“The ever considerate Gryffindor,” Draco said.

 

“I think she's more than just considerate, Malfoy.”

 

“Oh, I see. You came here to psychoanalyse me again.”

 

Harry leaned deeper into the big chair he was sitting on. “Which I would do if the matters weren't so clear.”

 

“Dare explain yourself, Potter. Should I be hoping you finally grew some wits ?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“You know, I think she's just confused.”

 

“Why are you under any impression that I want to listen to this?”

 

“Want it or not, you'll hear me out.”

 

The second person who wanted that.

 

“And why would I do that, Potter?”

 

“Because you were _there_ , Malfoy. And I was there as well, and I think we both owe it to Ron.”

 

Draco had despised Potter for most of his life. It was a fact, like sky being blue and birds flying. A certain beauty of being a pureblood was living in a world that was easy to understand. He knew how things worked. He believed that, and he hated Potter for proving him wrong, over and over.

 

He still hated Weasley. Sometimes. It was hard to truly hate someone who made you save your own life, in more ways than one.

 

Draco looked at Potter, who wanted to save the world. Wanted to save him. Well good luck with that, he thought. Make everyone believe that I am such a nice guy.

 

“Malfoy. Do you ever plan to tell anyone what you did?” Of course he would ask that.

 

“You mean, that I let Weasley die?” Draco asked in return. Because that was what people would think. Not that he saved Potter's life, no matter how much he disliked him then.

 

“Will you stop being such a git for a moment? I was there, Malfoy. Ron made a choice, didn't he?”

 

Draco swallowed thickly and glared at Harry.

 

“You tried to save us both, but it was impossible. Ron made a _choice_ , Malfoy.”

 

“I don't suffer from amnesia, Potter,” Draco answered coldly. He wished he did, though. He wished sometimes he could simply forget. “Have you convinced yourself in that shit yet?”

 

Potter ignored his question, but his expression betrayed him. Of course.

 

“Did you sat down and figured out in that head of yours that your son deserves a better world than the one you grew up into?”

 

“You don't have a fucking idea about me, Potter,” Draco countered, but Potter wasn't buying it.

 

“You're forgetting I have sons of my own. Ron was a godfather to one of them. He didn't even get a chance to meet the other one. He was my best friend, Malfoy, and he chose to -”

 

Draco looked at him pointedly. He didn't want to be blackmailed with their friendship, with all the sentimental stuff which people like Harry waved around like banners, but he was affected. It wasn't a simple matter of guilt, though. He was feeling responsible.

 

“I don't need to be called a hero, Potter. I _don't want_ people to pat me on the back for job well done, because that's bullshit -”

 

“I remember someone else who didn't want the others to know the best there was about him. A sad thing, really.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “And my son won't live out of sentimentality. People don't change, Potter. People still think Snape was a criminal. That's what I was one, and to them, _I still am_.”

 

“That's not true, Malfoy. You've proved otherwise. And that's something Hermione knows.”

 

Granger. He had to mention Granger, he had to push that button, didn't he? The bloody Gryffindor. Draco paused, because shutting down all other options was easy compared to this. For a moment there he believed -

 

 _No_ , he told himself. _You can't get what you want, remember?_

 

“People don't change their opinion _s_ ,” he spoke venomously. “They stick to their little perceptions, their precious beliefs because that's how everything makes sense, right?” How ironic. Wasn't that how pureblood world worked? “Scorpius is unlucky to inherit my name,” he pushed up his left sleeve, uncovering the remains of the Dark Mark on his skin. He wanted to see something on Potter's face, something like disgust, something he could fight against. But Potter remained the saint he always was, his face impassive. “People won't change their minds on this.”

 

“Hermione never listened what other people thought. She always did what she deemed right. Not what others said was right. You know, that's something I truly admire her for.”

 

“Potter, what is your fucking point?”

 

“My fucking point, Malfoy, is that it's gotten too far.”

 

Ten points to Gryffindor for amazing bluntness. Draco pushed his sleeve down, narrowed his eyes on Potter.

 

“I'm not Weasley, in case you'd forgotten. I'm not the well of everything that's good and kind. You can't put me in an empty slot -”

 

“No, you aren't, but I don't think that truly matters any more. The point is, that she needs to know.”

 

Draco clenched his jaw. No. _No._ But he didn't have any way to prevent it.

 

Potter showed himself out. Draco was left alone in his study, staring angrily at the bouquet of flowers resting on his desk.

 

“Did those flowers cross you, darling?”

 

For a moment Draco was startled. Then he realized who it was.

 

“Astoria,” he muttered.

 

“You could turn that chair around, you know. It would be polite, since I can't move from here,” her portrait said from behind him.  Truth to be told, he didn't want to look at her at this particular moment, but she had a point. He didn't move.

 

“Were you listening in?” he asked.

 

“Oh, Draco,” she laughed lightly. “Considering I am sort of stuck in here, it was difficult to miss that lovely conversation you just shared with Mister Potter,” she teased.

 

Draco did turn the chair around and gave the smiling portrait a half hearted glare.

 

“I do not wish to discuss this.”

 

“Goodness, of course you don't want to discuss it. You never enjoyed discussing things. You just pulled your shutters and remained in there.”

 

Seeing her amused, yet, very affectionate smile on a painting was an unsettling experience. Draco rarely talked to the portrait, and she initiated the conversations on rare occasions. Like now. Draco assumed that she would do the same if she was still alive, and not a memory magically trapped on a canvas. He never properly understood the portraits, though, or how they worked. They were definitely aware of certain things, but they were not the people they represented, just mere echoes of them instead. Sometimes it made him bitter because he missed her.

 

“Draco,” she insisted.

 

“I'm here,” he leaned elbows onto the armchair arms and connected his fingertips. She raised an eyebrow at him like she was issuing a challenge. “What?”

 

“If you want to know, I approve of her.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin's pants. You're not serious, Astoria.”

 

“On the contrary, my dearest. I am very serious.”

 

How could a painting do that? Look at him that way, just like she did, when she wanted his attention?

 

“You always liked her,” she continued.

 

“Not true.”

 

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes and looked at him as if he was a silly boy. “Not in the romantic sense. But you appreciated her and you thought she was a worthy opponent. Unlike Potter and Weasley, whom you both deemed less smart than you.”

 

Draco settled for a raised eyebrow. Her insights were always uncomfortably precise and her words straight to the point. Unlike most pureblood girls, Astoria didn't enjoy riddles.

 

“You were wrong, by the way.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

She folded her arms. “About Potter and Weasley. They're worthy opponents. Well, Harry is, and Ronald was. Only, Harry Potter seems to treat you like an almost friend.”

 

“And I assure you, I'm positively _enjoying_ it.”

 

“Oh, I saw that. Well, you can tell Potter off, but you can't fool me, Draco. I know you.” When he chose not to comment she continued. “I think Ronald Weasley made a lasting impression on you, didn't he?”

 

He didn’t answer that either, he lowered his eyes to hands folded on his lap.

 

“You're going to answer me, Draco.”

 

“Why would I do that?”

 

“Because I was your wife,” she said simply. “Look at me,” her voice was calm, but firm. He did what she asked of him. “What does it mean that Ron made a choice?”

 

Draco started to rub his forehead. Among many unpleasant moments in his life that he wished he could stop remembering, this one ranked very high. Rational thought implied that he had done everything he could in the given situation. However, sometimes it was hard to be rational about the whole affair. If Draco ever appreciated one thing about Potter, it was the fact that he was tight-lipped about the details. It meant that people like Goldstein couldn't pin it on him and use the information for their purposes.

 

“It means that I could have broken the curse, but it was probably too late. Actually, if I did, it would have killed me. He was dying, and in order to save him -” Draco paused. The familiar set of eyes were looking at him intently. “I'd risk my life. I'd _lose_ my life. He told me to go and save Potter. That he'd rather know his best friend was alive and -”

 

“And?”

 

The silence settled. This part was worse by far. _If you try to break this curse we'll all die. You, me, Harry. Your son will be all alone, Malfoy!_

 

His son. He'd done it all for his son. Not for Potter or greater good. He would have died because of guilt, but he decided to live for his son.

 

“Draco,” she sighed, unwilling to talk, but still not moving. “How much can it hurt? You're talking to a portrait after all.”

 

“Astoria, I swear, you must be the weirdest person I've met.”

 

“Really dear? Have you looked into the mirror recently? You are not very ordinary yourself.”

 

“I am deciding if I'm going to be offended by that.”

 

“Well, by all means, Draco. I don't have much to do. You, on the other hand...” she raised her eyebrows significantly. “Life is passing by. Stop reading all those books about revolutions and wars. You won't find actual answers in them, you know. History matters when you learn from it, not when you repeat it endlessly. Life is shorter than you think.”

 

“I'm well aware of that.”

 

“Actually, sweetheart, I don't think you are,” her face had turned serious and more real on the canvass. “My time with you was too short,” she said.

 

“Astoria -”

 

“Oh, I know how you don't like being open. We were all about silent communication and not holding hands in public, and I think I was pretty good at it. I was pretty smart. You _like_ smart. That's why she's good for you.”

 

“I haven't realized that portraits are omniscient,” Draco glanced at her. The painting smiled at him, a corner of her lips lifting up in an amused manner.

 

“They're not, but give me some credit. I see more than you're aware of.” She paused, leaning back in the painted chair she was occupying. “I was happy with you, Draco.”

 

“Then you are definitely weird.”

 

“Perhaps. You were always afraid that you were unlovable, which is not true. But you make loving you a hard task. Good thing that Hermione is stubborn. Just like I was.”

 

“You were nothing like her.”

 

“That's where you're wrong, sweetheart. She is a lot like me. But she is even more like you.”

 

He remained silent, staring somewhere ahead. The thing was, she was right. Draco generally didn't like caring for people. He didn't like letting them close, because it multiplied the chances of something going wrong. Like, people finding out you weren't what they expected you to be. Or they simply died.

 

“The only thing worse than death is a wasted life, you know.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Quoting a Muggle book again?”

 

“No. Myself. Now go. Find some fresh air. Play with our son. Ask Hermione out for a lunch. You did risk your life to save her, Draco, and she's not stupid. Just don't stay here, sulking and thinking about debts you need to repay. You want it all, don't you? A life that fits a storybook. Something worthy of being told.”

 

His gaze settled at her, sad and heavy. “It wasn't about debts, Astoria. It's not about that.”

 

“Whatever it is, Draco, perhaps it's time for it to end. So end it already.”

 

*

 

 

**_Part Eight_ **

****

 

The thing was, secrets didn't have a taste. They should have, though. They should have been bitter, acrid taste that lingers in your mouth, or perhaps something so bad you wouldn't even notice until it was too late.  They couldn't be seen, you couldn't touch the material they were made of; yet they could stab you. Painfully. Pierce you like arrows, cut you like curses.

 

“Why,” Harry's words have left Hermione without air. She felt like she was trying to inhale, but it was not enough, never enough. She stared at harry who answered all her questions but one. “ _Why haven't you told me?!!_ ”

 

“Hermione -”

 

She was shaking. She was shaking so hard she feared she might fall apart, from inside out, and she needed to calm down, yes, to make some sense out of this, because – oh gods, she _couldn't._ She never expected she would be this angry – no – _disappointed_ with Harry. Her entire face felt like it was burning, her entire being was, while everything about Harry looked almost dead, except his eyes. But no amount of pain, no amount of guilt, even though she saw it right there, could help now.

 

“My life, Harry. My entire life! My life _ended_ on that day! How could you not tell me?? Okay, I know – I _know_ that at first you weren't allowed to, and that it was classified, that those men still weren't caught -”

 

“Hermione -”

 

“How could you not tell me _after_?!?” she screamed. She screamed at him because she had to. It would tear through her if she didn't, and Harry didn't move, didn't even flinch or bat an eye. She knew him well enough to be able to read him, even now, like an open book. And he was accepting everything she was throwing at him, and yes, that god damn martyr complex, it was there again.

 

“What was I to tell you?” his voice was rising steadily. She wanted it to. She didn't want him to just sit there and take it, she wanted to fight, she wanted him to stand up for himself and – oh God. “That we could have saved him? But he chose to die, instead of me? Again? Someone died instead of me – _again_? That it was my best – goddamit Hermione!!!”

 

“Harry -” she could barely recognize her own voice. She could understand where he was coming from, she really could, but she couldn't understand how he chose not to tell her something like this. She had the right to know _how_ Ron died, and _why_. How could he deny this from her? How?!

 

The air fled from her chest again, leaving her feeling hollow and painful. Empty. She took a seat across from him, dropped into it like a weight. She looked around the crammed office space that he once shared with Ron. Where he kept the reminders of Ron. She tried, did her best to focus, but she couldn't. Everything around her felt like it was spinning. The edge of Harry's desk was hard and worn, it carried the traces of Ron's hands, of their past. The three of them, together. Evrything she knew about the world threatened to fall apart.

 

“Harry,” she took a deep breath, full of air, full of regret and bitterness and finality. She didn't want it to fall apart into pieces, but perhaps it already had. But Harry was here, even though she was so angry with him, even though she felt betrayed, he was still alive. “Harry. You couldn't change anything. You couldn't -” she sighed in frustration, becauser it wasn't his fault, because he should have told her, oh God, he should have just told her.

 

“But I could!” The overdue fury lashed out from Harry's eyes; the familiar guilt and sorrow she saw in him before but never completely understood it. “I _could_ , Hermione! He was not even supposed to go,” he was starting to shout, starting to lose it as well. “I should have made him stay, I should have saved him -”

 

“Harry, you couldn't. You couldn't! He chose – Draco was right,” she choked out. Rational. Rational conclusions were safe. Reliable. She couldn't let them fall apart, not like this, not after all this time and everything they've been through. It was clear after all, it was all there in the report. Neatly written in a handwriting that could have been Draco's. It broke her heart, but nothing could be done. It couldn't be fixed, the time couldn't be turned backwards, and hermione took a deep breath, did her best to keep in inside of her chest. “If Draco had – had attempted to – to help him, then both would have died. Both he and Ron – and  -and - … there would have been _nobody_ to help you, you would have been dead, _all three of you would be dead_. Harry,” she breathed, sharp and painful and desperate. “You know I'm right.”

 

Harry stared, looking like an empty shell that was once her friend.

 

“He was my best friend, Hermione,” he sounded defeated. He sounded like it all was his fault, every time. And she knew why he felt like that, she knew what he'd been through – but _no_. _No_ , she thought, because it wasn't only his loss.

 

“And my husband! Father of my child! How could you keep this from me? How could _you_ live with this??!”

 

He swallowed, he shook, he blinked back the tears. She couldn't stop herself, she wasn't going to stop herself, if she wanted to keep the shreds of _them_.

 

“Did you think I will hold you responsible?” Because it was ridiculous. Because she _wouldn't._ “Did you think that I would blame you?” Because this was his loss as well, just like it was hers, because Draco wanted to save him, because -

 

“I just _couldn't._ Damn it, Hermione! I _couldn't do that to you!_ We caught them nearly a year later, and you were -” He swallowed hard. Oh, she remembered. She _knew_ what he meant. It was the time when she was barely better, when she was picking herself up and forcing herself to keep on living, because Rose was there and she needed her. Reading that report he'd just shown her? It would have broken her. Hearing it from him would have felt even worse, but it would have been the _right_ thing, and she would have survived it.

 

“Harry James Potter,” there were tears in her eyes and she was still shaking, but she knew, clearly, that she didn't want to lose him as well. Even though she was so, so very angry with him. “You _should have told me._ I wouldn't have blamed you for – for his death! Harry, you're the only thing -”

 

“I know,” he said gravely. “And it can't be fixed.”

 

“But it's not your fault. Not Draco's. How long – oh God – how long did you two think you'd go around with this? Who else knows?”

 

He remained silent for awhile. So quiet and still and he looked so lost. “Two of us. Other people who were there. Three investigators. The minister.”

 

“Ginny?”

 

He just stared. Stared so painfully, so guilty into her, asking for a verdict and absolution.

 

“Oh, Harry.”

 

She was angry with him, and sad and wanted to hug him; she wanted to walk out of here and never see him again, all at the same time. Instead, she grasped his hands, tightly and said the words she knew were right ones. “You are still my friend Harry. I still love you. But you've done wrong.”

 

“I know.”

 

She swallowed, forcing herself to thinks straight.

 

“I'll need... a few days.”

 

“I know.”

 

There was a hint of relief in his voice. Tiny and barely there, but she heard it.

 

“I'll go scream at Malfoy now.”

 

He nodded. Then he raised his eyes, “They questioned him three times, under Veritaserum. It wasn't his -”

 

Hermione held his gaze, shaking her head. “Ron used the right words. What he said to Draco - like in a chess game,” she said brokenly, her voice catching. “Neither of you could – oh _God._ ”

 

“I guess Ron knew what to do,” Harry said, his voice completely defeated.

 

For a couple of minutes they held each other's stares, seeking comfort that wasn't there. Hermione left the report behind her, the heavy weight of handwritten accounts of a tragedy. A much bigger load remained in her heart.

 

 

 

*

 

 

He came to her. By the look on Draco's face Hermione could tell that he knew what happened earlier that day, and while she wanted to talk to him, she didn't feel like going over.  The fact that he came to her brought relief that she couldn't truly explain.

 

He looked bad, of course. Still exhausted, like a person who barely escaped a death snare. The thought made her feel relieved, but she was also angry, confused and upset. She didn't feel dissapointed, though. She and Draco had miles and miles of history, but different history than she and Harry did. She knew that she wanted Harry to still be her friend, she was certain of that. She knew that she would forgive him. What she didn't know, though, was where all of this would leave her and Draco.

 

There was this conclusion she reached when Draco showed at her door. She didn't want to lose her connection to him, whatever it was – and it was all kinds of things. Things that still needed time to grow properly.

 

There was awareness in his look. Directness. No more riddles, because the cards were on the table. She let him inside her house, led him to the kitchen in utter silence.

 

“Potter told you,” he said.

 

She breathed, slow, deep. _It couldn't be fixed, could it, Harry? Past couldn't be fixed. One could accept it or not._ Hermione didn't practice denial. Rejecting Harry, ending their friendship wouldn't fix anything. What about Draco?

 

“He should have told me long time ago.”

 

She didn't feel the same way about Harry and Draco. Resentment was there, but so were many other things. Did this finally explain him? Did anything truly explain him? What about the things she was beginning to feel?

 

But, perhaps, the answer was simpler than she ever anticipated. Some things were fundamental, unremarkable constant among human beings. Things like fear, and sorrow and love. Or those warm ripples in her chest that wouldn't go away.

 

Back in the dark days, the boy who couldn't be a Death Eater was flawed material. Corrupted and useless for Voldemort's purposes, he did things out of fear. Fear for those he loved. His humanity was his flaw. It was that unremarkable, so gloriously ordinary.

 

“He couldn't Granger. In that fucked up saint brain of his it was all his fault. He was so noble not to point his finger at me, even though I could have done something.”

 

Something. Yes, something. An attempt which would result in death of the both, sliced in pieces by curse's invisible blades. And subsequently, in Harry's death. There were brand new sorts of curses that had appeared during the Second Wizarding War, ones that hurt the victims and their possible rescuers. Some could be defeated, if the curse breaker was powerful and intact. Some were deadly to all.

 

She breathed, told herself this was a tactic of his she was long familiar with. That he had no means to hurt her, and no real desire. But she was tired of this way he was treating himself.

 

“Could you, Draco? Honestly?”

 

His eyes narrowed on hers.

 

“Could I what?” he spoke through tight throat.

 

“Could you have done something? Could you save him?”

 

He stared back at her, mute, lacking an answer. Was he, just like Harry, convincing himself that if they tried harder, if they made the left turn instead of right, it would have been fine? It wouldn't happen?

 

“Answer my question, Draco Malfoy.”

 

There was an unspoken understanding between them, an arrangement between two equals. They were above the lies.

 

“No,” hard, definite. He was used to this, being harsh, saying things that one didn't want to hear. “I couldn't save Weasley,” his eyes were hard, impenetrable like stone. Still there was something flickering in depths of grey. Remorse. Regret, like couldn't accept absence of his own guilt.

 

“Ronald was a tactician,” she stared back at him. “You wouldn't have guessed that, would you? You underestimated him, just like you did with Harry, me, and everything you were taught to hate. Ronald could beat you in chess with his right hand tied behind his back. Yes, he could be brash and impulsive but he was amazing when it counted. He was brave. He did something you still can't wrap your head around,” her voice was hard, but quiet. There was no accusation, but she could see him, threading on the verge, ready to take a flight. “Don't you dare, Malfoy, don't you dare turn your back on me after everything.”

 

She breathed and continued.

 

“You weren't thinking at that point, were you? All you knew was that your father had done it or that he was a part of it, and that maybe you should have known what was inside? But you didn't warn them, you couldn't discover it, just like you didn't warn those injured Aurors that Goldstein blames you for? Just like you couldn't discover it when two of us -,” her voice faltered at the memory. “You weren't thinking when you ran for Ron, who was cut almost in pieces,” her voice caught again, and tears started to well up in her eyes, but she soldiered on. “That was your Aunt, by the way. Not your father.”

 

By that time, the steel hardness in his eyes was gone. He looked like the boy from the burning Room of Requirement, lost at the end of the final battle.

 

“You weren't aware that it could have killed you, but Ronald was. He knew what it was. It was one moment, but it could have cost your life, Draco. Ron -,” a broken sigh escaped, “ _knew_ he would die, no matter what you did, and he spared you. Saved you. For Harry’s sake. For your son. For yourself, because he didn't really hate you. Because that's who Ronald was.”

 

His eyes burned now. The resentment was obvious, livid, but she suspected it wasn't aimed at anyone but himself. She didn't want him to do this, didn't want him to compare himself to noble Gryffindors, hate their heroism and his own lack of it.  Didn't want him to come out wrong and guilty no matter how the words were arranged. The verdict always fell at his own feet. Didn't he see he wasn't the failure he believed in?

 

“Stop trying to do it, Draco. Just _stop_. You can't erase what your father did. You can't correct his wrongs.”

 

“You're forgetting something,” he said darkly. She shook her head. “I could have switched sides, couldn't I?”

 

“No. Stop it! I've been telling you this, over and over, and now I know it all, don't I? You're not your father, Draco. You made your choices. Many of them were poor, and some were horrible, but many are good.”

 

“I'm not a good person, Granger. Ask around,” somewhere in his eyes a fire was flickering out. The last line of defence was drawn.

 

“I wouldn't agree with that,” she said firmly. “You're not a bad person either,” she replied, and he was silent, so she continued, while the fire was still flickering, faint but alive.

 

“I meant what I said. A bad man cannot raise a good son.”

 

His lips twitched, like an involuntary impulse he couldn't contain and prove that he was cold and made of stone. “Is that your proof?” he asked.

 

Rocks could be crushed and ground to dust. People who loved, people who _were_ loved by at least one person, one single person, couldn't be obliterated; couldn't be nullified and made insignificant.

 

“I don't need proof,” suddenly everything was leaving her chest. All the anger, confusion, frustration. She felt tired and paper thin. He was surprised when she neared him and took both of his hands in hers – his fine, long fingers, delicate skin. She rubbed circles on the back of both hands, looking at the point of contact, glad that he didn't recoil from her touch. She held his hands in a similar way she held Harry's. “I've seen for myself,” she said and looked up. Met his eyes, his face. She saw him in the mirror that was his child, the boy he was raising alone, the love that made him someone who wouldn't be left to nothingness in the future. He would be committed to memories, cherished on old photographs, remembered with fondness and pride.

 

“Have you now?” a thin, painful layer of doubt, and something entirely different underneath.

 

“I know,” she said steadily. Then she smiled, just a little. “I'm the brightest witch of our age after all.”

 

Lightness reached his eyes, tugged at the corner of his lips.

 

“Ah,” there was, almost imperceptible sigh, a breath he was holding for too long. “The insufferable know – it  - all.”

 

Something warm was spreading its wings inside of her chest.

 

“Glad you still remember.”

 

The flicker was still there, small but alive.

 

“I do.”

 

“Good. I'm glad we cleared that out,” she said.

 

 

*

 

During her time in Hogwrats Hermione barely ever sneaked into a classroom after the class had started. It was more of Ron and Harry's speciality, not hers. She was punctual. Right now she was feeling a little embarrassed and hoped that appointed teacher wouldn't notice her belated entrance.

 

He didn't, or at least didn't show it, but someone else saw her.

 

 

Not seeing him or Draco for two weeks straight felt like much longer time. Especially now. His mouth formed _'Hello'_ and he smiled easily, and it felt like coming out of the darkness. She smiled in return feeling parts of herself slowly sliding back into place. Her life wasn't meant to be spent angry at Harry Potter. She was ready to hug him long and hard and tell him that she missed him, even in the anger she had felt. It was still there, and she knew it would take time to completely pass, but what mattered was here. In this room.

 

She felt she had missed out, even if her time apart from Harry and Draco hadn't really been long. It felt a bit like realization that the world changed while she wasn't watching. Draco had accepted Harry's offer to be included in Auror training and he had several lectures scheduled already, which was good, by all means good for him. Irrationally, it scared her, and she didn't know why, or perhaps, she didn't want to know. The thing was, she wanted her curse breaker back – no, she wanted Draco back. His voice, his rants, his quirks and habits and things that annoyed her; she wanted all of it. Soon. As soon as possible.

 

Ministry's biggest conference room room was redesigned to resemble a classroom, and it seemed to serve the purpose just fine. There were twenty – something Auror trainees inside, sitting at several tables placed in a semi circle. The person they were all listening to was slowly pacing in front of them, completely claiming their attention. The mood inside of the room wasn't suited for the academic setting, though. Hermione could easily pick up the discomfort spreading through the room like a slow fog, and Draco stood in front of it, refusing to be swallowed inside.

 

With the way Draco held himself reminded Hermione of a milder, slightly more colourful version of Professor Snape. His three piece suit gave him an elegant appearance, and he still looked distinguished after he took off the jacket.  He had that feeling of authority about him, the arrogance of a Slytherin who _knew_ he was smart, but his presence hadn't been as threatening as Snape's. He carried himself well, like someone intriguing and powerful.  Hermione could sense the curiosity among his students as he talked about basics of curse breaking. The why and how and the risks of it. However, she had a feeling that majority of the trainees were curious about _him_ , not  the things he had to say.

 

“... which is a good time to remind you – and for you, it's absolutely necessary to remember this – if you are going to keep someone, _anyone else_ safe, you need to think of your own safety first.”

 

He gauged the reaction to his words. Hermione could see questions on some faces, protest on others.

 

“Sir,” one young man raised his hand as he started to speak. “Shouldn't a curse breaker prevent _everyone else_ from getting hurt?”

 

“That is correct,” Draco turned on his heel, raised an eyebrow at the youngster. “However, you won't be of any use to your team if you're dead or injured. A dead curse breaker is as good as none, an injured team member puts the entire mission at risk.”

 

“Still, Sir, the supposed purpose of a curse breaker in an Auror team -”

 

Not missing a beat, Draco interrupted this question with a level stare. Oh, he was prepared for this. Then a realization hit her, startling and clear like a sunrise. This is why he initially didn't want to do it. Not because of the criticism, not because of the questions. He hadn't been ready to give the answers.

 

But that had changed.

 

Draco stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, steady as a rock as he addressed the challenge. “Have you ever been on a Muggle plane, Mister -?”

 

“Fredericks, Sir,” the young Auror replied. “And no, Sir, I haven't. I prefer brooms,” he added. There was chuckling, which Draco ignored, keeping an eye on Fredericks who wore an indulgent smile. He was one of those people who thought a former Death Eater could never do something of any worth. Hermione glanced at Harry, who stood against the wall, arms crossed at his chest. Harry nodded slowly, his eyes steady and serious.

 

“Fredericks,” Draco repeated, probably committing his name to memory. “Well, try to remember this well, Fredericks, and everyone else in this room. A Muggle plane is basically a flying can. It's relatively safe until something goes wrong, at which point it becomes very unsafe. See, Muggles can't fly. That is why they use planes. If the plane catches fire, they aren't able to breathe inside it. That's why they have plastic masks attached to oxygen supply, which is, I am sure you know, necessary to keep breathing. And there's an interesting thing that Muggle flight attendants tell you each time before the plane takes off,” he paused and looked across the classroom, met each pair of eyes that studied or judged him. If he spotted Hermione, he did not show it; his face was hard, his gaze focused. “They tell you, each and every time, if you have a small child travelling with you, that you should put the oxygen mask over your own face first. Not the child's. See, if you pass out, while trying to save your child, you won't do much good. Both you and your child would suffocate. But if you ensure that you remain functional, you will be able to help your child. Or, in our case here, your fellow wizards.”

 

This time around there were no chuckles. Still the feeling of opposites prevailed. Hermione wanted to walk up to Draco and tell those young and inexperienced people that there were no sides in this room, but this was Draco's battle. Not hers. Not even theirs.

 

“Mark my words, young colleagues. If you are going to sacrifice your own life, make sure it counts. Make sure, the best to your knowledge and abilities, that your own life actually saves someone else's. If not, then you wasted it, but not only that. You wasted future opportunities where you could, in fact, save someone. If there are some former Gryffindors in this room who think this reasoning is selfish, I will present you with another argument. You do not exist alone. You have families, friends, lovers, children; at least one person who will be affected if you gamble your life away.”

 

“Sir,” someone in the back spoke quietly. “If I may -”

 

“Yes, you may, mister -?”

 

“Worthington, Sir,” the tone was somewhat more respectful this time around. “Ask your question, mister Worthington.”

 

“Shouldn't we leave private matters aside, Sir?”

 

Draco gave him an amused, if somewhat dark smirk. Hermione held her breath when she saw his methodical, focused movements as he began to  unbutton the sleeves of his white shirt, realizing what he was about to do.

 

This was where he decided to take his stand. To look back at the face of the world and tell everyone that they could judge him all they wanted, but couldn't take away the things he'd done. Show that he wasn't accepting any more to be put to shame.

 

“They told you that, haven’t they? That you should separate professional and private life? Well, this is how it _actually_ works, Worthington,” he paused, beginning to roll up the right sleeve in a neat, calm fashion. The breathing inside of the classroom almost ceased, while Draco continued to talk, his voice was slightly bitter. “You will never be able to do that completely,” he paused, to look at Worthington, who sat with his mouth slightly parted and stared at Draco's hands.“Unless you're a heartless person. It is much better if you know your weaknesses instead of trying to ignore them.”

 

Draco continued rolling up his sleeve, then stopped below his elbow. The action seemed like something unremarkable and ordinary, and Draco treated it as such. His words and his tone were completely serious, designed to show that things he was trying to teach them were more important than the past or the scar they were all so eager to see.

 

“If you have children some day, you will forever be _responsible_ for those children. They will need you, which means you will treat your life as something that shouldn't go wasted. Is that understood?”

 

The class looked at him as he reached for his left sleeve. This was not a lesson about parenthood, and not a mere lesson about being an Auror or a Cruse breaker. Hermione's throat was tight as she watched. All of this wasn't so much about him, or for him. She knew what he wanted to accomplish and what he hoped for - that some day his son would inherit more honour with the name Draco was trying to redeem.

 

“Your lives are valuable. They are your most worthy possession,” his voice was stern and clinical. He folded the sleeve second time and a small portion of his scar could be seen. Everyone inside the room was perfectly, dreadfully quiet. Draco's measured voice was a contrast to the silence while he proceeded to expose his left arm, and the thing that reduced him to a lesser man. “As long as you are alive, you can do good things. Your lives are more useful than your heroic deaths. If you're going to sacrifice your life, make sure it counts,” he said, with the sleeve neatly folded below his elbow. Then he leaned against his desk with the Dark Mark scar completely exposed. Hermione could feel the mood inside of the room change. The honesty of the moment was uncomfortable, yet Draco continued like it wasn't there. “Mister Potter over there, who seems to think he was stealthy and had managed to enter this room unnoticed -” the opportunity to turn around came as a relief, as did Harry's smile. “- Can tell you how and why Voldemort lost the war. Or, I can tell you as well,” Draco paused. There was not a sound around them and now he had their attention like he wanted it. “I can tell you that he hadn't valued lives. He didn't pay attention to things like families, friendships, children. Lovers. Redemption. Fear. Loyalty. All those things are part of you, and all those things are valid motives for the work you want to perform. All those things can make you both strong and weak. In order to avoid the latter, you shouldn't ignore them. That would be a grave mistake.”

 

The silence continued, but it didn't feel as heavy as few moments ago.

 

“I assume we've got this matter settled,” he said and there were no complaints. Hermione concluded that the youngsters have got more than they bargained for and were ready to accept Draco's authority instead of challenging it. She felt amused and quite proud as she watched him straightening up. “I would like to start telling you about the simple, yet very effective things that can keep you safe in your line of work,” Draco picked up a small object from his desk, showing it to the class. “Does anyone know what this is?”

 

Several hands were raised. She was so close to raising her own hand as well. All of this had felt _that_ good.

 

“Yes, mister Fredericks?” Draco asked. Hermione smiled. That was a classy way of letting the little git redeem himself.

 

“That would be a bezoar, Sir,” Hermione and Harry exchanged an amused look, and Draco nodded, continuing to tell the class about usefulness of bezoar.

 

 

 

*

 

**_Part Nine_ **

 

 

“Malfoy,” she called him that when she was annoyed, or when she wanted to tease him, but mostly, when she was annoyed. Time had passed and they had fallen back into a routine, and he annoyed her often. This hadn't changed. In fact, so many things stayed the same, even though they were layered with new knowledge. There was this bit of truth – Hermione felt relieved that they were able to go back to their day to day schedules.

 

There was something different, though, something akin to raised awareness, thoughts which were loud in the back of her mind each time when she'd look at him and feel variety of things. Things like pride, fondness, longing; things she didn't truly dare naming in her own head as they spread through her consciousness like a warm breath.

 

The winter had come, with the snow and different excitement for children, different tension between two of them. They would walk side by side, closer than before, sharing silence that wasn't strained. She'd let those moments happen; when they were alone and without anyone to judge them or expect anything of them. Sometimes it felt like she had switched sides, which was insane and unacceptable. There were no more sides. There shouldn't be. People shouldn't turn their heads as they passed through Diagon Alley with their children. Still, those long walks in Muggle world were their getaway, and to stranger they were just two people, and nothing more. Nothing less.

 

Sometimes she felt stretched too thin, trying to be two people. One person known by the wizarding public, Hermione Granger, the war hero, the widow, the respected person who didn't do wrong things. The other person was a single mother, a hard worker, a woman who didn't tolerate injustice in any form. She was a friend. She was doing her best to consider both sides. She was forgiving and it wasn't a weakness.

 

But right now, she was simply annoyed and slightly angry with Draco, and he was doing his best to push her buttons.

 

“We don't have an entire day to waste, and I certainly don't need -”

 

“ _Enough_ , Granger,” his hand gripped her upper arm, and he pulled her close. She didn't mind the closeness until she reminded herself to stay annoyed and not let him joke his way out of this. “I am _not_ spending another day in the office discussing who is right. As much as I despise it, we're going to settle this like Gryffindors,” he stopped to give her a mischievous look, the one that equalled a gauntlet thrown straight into her face. Which was something she wanted to accept, if there wasn't a pile of work already waiting for them, but that look on his face, that look -

 

“Draco Malfoy! We have work to do,” her attempt was doomed to fail because he was in one of those moods. He wasn't going to give up, he was going to be impossible just to get what he wanted. She knew this, knew enough about him to realize that giving in was the smart thing to do.

 

He ignored the bit about work completely.

 

“I know my name, woman, you don't have to yell. Get your coat.”

 

“Draco -”

 

She tried to free herself from his hold, which resulted in a childish looking game of pulling, grabbing and swatting. By this point she was becoming amused, because it was hard not to, even if she wanted to stay annoyed. In the end his hands were larger, he was physically stronger and taller. He took her hostage with a pleased smirk on his face, pulled her close to him, her trapped hands against his chest. It didn't feel so bad.

 

“Your menacing stares will _not_ help. Granger, for once, do as I say, would you?”

 

She stared at him, knowing that he had set his mind to this, whatever it was, and that he wasn't going to give up. She opted to put on her coat and scarf herself, before he did it for her. He wasn't above it. She could pay him back for this at some later point. This was merely a tactical retreat.

 

“I am pleasantly surprised to see that there is still some reason in your head,” he said, putting on his coat and smirking into her face. Such an annoying smirk. So attractive. She shouldn't be thinking like that, but she couldn't help it much – these slips were getting more frequent and she was accepting that she found him, Draco Malfoy, probably the most arrogant person she knew, attractive.

 

He was also interesting. And smart. And he was never short of surprises. And that; that was good. Even if the world thought differently.

 

“I am certain that you have lost your wit,” she said, looking at his extended hand, still playing the game. “Are you kidding?”

 

“Do you not trust me?”

 

So many layers to a single question.

 

“This is not a matter of trust, Malfoy,” she mostly faked her anger but grasped his hand nevertheless. “Sometimes I'm certain your son is more mature.”

 

“And I am certain my son would completely approve of this. Therefore, you can rest assured that my plan would be approved by a mature person,” she glared, and he rolled his eyes. “There. On count of three, Granger,” he said.

 

He didn't count. Of course. The pull of the Apparition slightly took her balance and she swayed a little as the snow all around them blinded her for a moment.

 

“Malfoy! Where the hell are we?!”

 

She was disoriented at first, but there was a feeling of familiarity about the place. Oh no, he didn't. Did he? Were they at Hogsmeade?

 

He was smirking into her face in a way that made her want to slap him.

 

“I thought this would be an appropriate spot to even out the score. What? Forgot the third year already, Granger?”

 

Oh the third year again. She took a deep breath, battling between being outraged and amused.

 

There was one strange, annoying, reassuring thing about men. They never really grew up.

 

“For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, are we thirteen again?Are _you_ still thirteen?”

 

He came closer, close enough for her to see every shade of grey as he looked at her.

 

“Thank Merlin we're not,” he said. And smashed a fistful of snow into her face.

 

It was a fight of epic proportions. Completely ruthless, with no rules and no mercy. Hermione fought valiantly, but eventually the predictable, infuriating physical strength of a young male made him victorious, effectively trapping her against a tree.

 

Or, perhaps, she had let him. Perhaps she was having a better time than she was willing to allow. In any case, she was caught, and her captor looked happy, with a snowball ready. She really didn't want it smashed into her face again. He did it once, the snow was cold, her arms were aching, she wanted a break. A break from everything, really. At this point she was ready and willing to beg for mercy. Well, almost.

 

“Okay, okay, you win,” her breathing was hard, her fog like breaths puffing into his smirking face.

 

“Come again?”

 

“You win, Malfoy,” she was laughing now because this was ridiculous and because it felt good, and she didn't even remember what they were fighting about any more. It just didn't matter, not more than tiny wrinkles forming around his eyes, announcing a smile. She saw plenty of smirks, cocky, overconfident grins, but the smiles were rare. They were precious. They transformed him, and that was why she wanted them. “You _win_! I surrender,” she finally caught her breath.

 

He dropped the snow, planted his hands against the tree trunk, closely framing her face. His eyes were intent and soft, boring into hers. Her breath caught and her throat tightened under the intensity of his stare.

 

“Granger,” he said, barely a whisper, his lips merely inches away. Oh, God, she thought.

 

“What?” she asked, looking as his eyes become different, purposeful. Almost frightening. She could feel a fire spreading through her chest.

 

“I am sober,” he said and didn't waste any more time.

 

She didn't remember their first kiss all that well. The memory of that kiss she gave him lacked sharpness of the detail. The trunk of the tree accepted her complete weight as he leaned against her, pressing close. He looked at her, seeking something, and for a moment she feared that what he was searching for, wouldn't be there. She was just about to speak, ask him what was the matter, because she just wanted him to do it, or her heart would burst through the seams of her chest. She would simply explode. His lips were soft when she felt them, soft and wonderful like something long expected. It started as a slow kiss, but it became demanding, deep and possessive, with tongues and teeth and her breath caught between them as he advanced, wanting and taking more. She fought for some balance, battled to feel more of him, his skin, his hair, the wetness of his mouth. Her hands slid up and down his chest, touching, testing, because she wanted to do this for such a long time. She wound her hands around his neck as his lips drew patterns across her face. She met him, kiss  after kiss, finding his cheeks and eyelids with her lips, feeling like she might fly away if he'd let go of her.

 

After breathless minutes they pulled apart, and Hermione realised she didn't want that. She didn't want to go back to the office, like they were supposed to. She wanted to keep kissing him, right here, like this; as if they were two six – years hiding away from the rest of their classmates.

 

“Granger,” Draco's voice had a breathy quality. His eyes had settled on her face as if he had found whatever he was looking for, looking somewhat hysterical and a little drunk. Breathless and well kissed.

 

“Malfoy,” she put a finger onto his lips and he let her. His hair was a mess she had created.

 

“Tell me you don't regret doing this sober,” he said.

 

She swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze. His body was a solid wall against hers and she pressed against him when she moved to kiss him back. Slower, longer, deeper, invading his mouth to tell him that she meant it. She thought she could see relief on his face when she looked at him. “Tell me are you going to do this every time we can't reach an agreement on something?”

 

He smirked. “Are you going to be annoying again?”

 

“We haven't settled anything, if you recall,” she answered. And they didn't. They would, too. But later. Much later.

 

“I was distracted,” he shrugged, stole another kiss. And another. And then another.

 

“You're a prat,” she said, sighing against his cheek.

 

 

“Malfoy?” She kissed him slowly, like entering the quiet, trying to keep it undisturbed.

 

He was silent, just looking at her, like he wanted this and wanted to run away at the same time, twisting himself in knots all over again because he hit another boundary in his head. Like he remembered, again, all those reasons why this was supposed to be wrong. But she was done with this, with him acting this way, one step forward and three steps back.

 

“Can we be done, Malfoy?” she wrapped both of her hands around his larger ones, cold from the snow, tired from the wars, pressed her palms into his skin. “Because I'm not going anywhere.”

 

She could almost feel the breath he was holding and the tension of his back. She kissed him, sweetly, like a blessing against the white snow and bleak sky, to make him know that she meant it. It seemed that he was there and yet he wasn't, like he was still attempting to shield himself away.

 

Hermione pulled him with her, down along the path they both remembered, until the towers of the castle rose in front of them. She led him, because she didn't believe in giving up, in locking herself away. She took him with her, because that was what she wanted. In the distance before them stood the familiar outline of Hogwarts, a place he set out to break, once.

 

Perhaps there were things you simply couldn't mend, like a permanent crack on a smooth surface. She observed Draco, who stared at the distance.

 

Some things you could fix, though. She knew this, and she held his hand tighter in hers. If he couldn’t believe it yet, then she would believe it for both of them. You could mend these living, aching things; you could pluck them out of the past and turn them into something new. You couldn't change them, and you couldn't forget, but you could learn how to deal with them. He would learn.

 

She watched Draco look down at their hands, interlinking their fingers so they'd fit. Something came alive in his eyes, a glimmer of presence she was hoping for.

 

“We can,” he said finally. “We can be done.”

 

 

*

 

She moved. A little bit, enough to tickle him out of the slumber.

 

“Granger,” he protested.

 

She moved again. And again.

 

“Damn it, woman,” she was intent on getting up. Apparently. But, he didn't want to get up. He liked where he was, where _they_ were, like this. With them and a sheet separating them from the rest of the reality.

 

“We've got to get up, you know that,” she said.

 

Did they? He didn't want to. He positively didn't want to leave the bed.

 

“Draco,” she was protesting, rather unconvincingly. Her leg was sliding down against his, and she was tracing patterns across his chest. She was completely cruel, this wicked woman. If she kept this up, he would be wide awake, all right. And ready to do certain things they didn't have time for.

 

“I can't get up. I think I sprained something,” he said. Lame attempt, but hey, it was worth trying. She leaned her arms against his chest to prop herself up, her smirking face above his.

 

“Told you not to do wild things,” she said. He looked at her face and then below, properly expressing his appreciation for the lack of her clothing.

 

“It's entirely your fault,” he said, sliding his hands along her sides. Merlin, it's been such long time since he properly did this. Not the one night stands, those were meant for a brief relief. Draco didn't really enjoy those few encounters with the women he didn't know. Time spent with Granger had a  different quality, it tended to fulfil those empty, hidden places within him, where he didn't like to venture. But, with her, he didn’t even have to. That aching hollow inside would just fill up and smooth over, and he would think content thoughts, unable to worry about future or dwell into past. She was able to pull him into here and now and make him stay. “I couldn't help myself, with all this.... inspiration at hand. _Hands_ ,” he said. She swatted his arms away from her breasts.

 

To put it simply, he didn't feel lonely any more.

 

“Excuses,” she said.

 

“Really? Who could tell you were hiding _this_ under all those frumpy clothes.”

 

“I do not have frumpy clothes,” she was pulling him by the hand, so he sat up and met the air that wasn't as warm as their little sheet protected cocoon.

 

“I don't mind them,” he was smirking. “Especially when they're not on you.”

 

“Oh, stop it. You know we have to go and pick up the kids. Ginny can't watch over four little monsters the entire afternoon while we're _writing reports_ ,” her reprimand wasn't all that effective with that smile she was sporting. If past two hours were good for him, then they were very good for her. He saw to that, he always did. It was a matter of pride and well, he liked when she looked like this. She had that recently shagged happy glow about her. He was probably grinning like a fool, but he didn't care.

 

“Granger, Granger,” he was able to see much more of her like this, sheets pooling around their lower bodies. At this point he was tempted to remove that obstacle as well, “Writing reports is an important thing,” he said as he tried to catch her arms. They wrestled playfully, and he finally ended on top of her, victorious. “I've got you.”

 

“Malfoy, I'm gonna kick you,” she threatened.

 

“Empty threats, Granger,” he said. “You need me functional,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She rolled her eyes at him, becoming slightly flushed, annoyed, just how he liked her the best.

 

“I don't need you annoying,” she replied. “Draco, I'm serious -”

 

She gave him one particular look, the one that wasn’t feisty or even threatening, but tired. It  discouraged him from further convincing to stay in bed. As much as he wanted that, he knew they had to get going soon, but even more than that there was one thing that he didn’t want to do. He let her pull him out of the bed and up onto his feet.

 

For all the lack of consideration for pretty much anyone he knew, Draco didn’t want to make Hermione feel worse. If he did, it somehow proved that he wasn’t good. Good for her.

 

“Aw,” she said, looking at his face. She smirked, then it melted into a soft smile that made his chest feel funny, like it was full of tiny butterfly wings. “I had no idea you'd be so clingy,” she teased.

 

“I'm not clingy,” he protested, because he didn’t like feeling like this. Almost exposed, even if it was with her.

 

“Attached,” she smiled fondly. It was making his chest warm inside, and the feeling was expanding and spreading through him.

 

“Dedicated,” he countered.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” she put a finger onto his lips. “Shower?” she offered.

 

Like he would say no to more naked time with her. Even if he ended up smelling of her strawberry soap.

 

Granger liked to shower with him. She liked to kiss in the rain – she liked to kiss and be kissed and held; she liked to lie down, put her head in his lap and read a book. She liked his fingers in her hair, his hands on her back. She liked _him_ , obviously.

 

He followed her into the shower, closed his eyes under the warm spray of water. Here - and - now, he thought. Here – and - now was good. It was where he would like to stay.

 

“Do we have to leave?” he continued their debate.

 

“Draco,” she let out an exasperated sigh. He could tell that she didn't want to stop this, either. The thing was, he'd gotten used to this. Her. Spending regular, intimate time with her. He had a love hate relationship with that time, because it was limited. He felt like he had to steal her away; from their work, from the kids, and rest of the world. The fact that she wanted to be stolen felt good, but he was starting to crave more.

 

“I know,” he said, before she could launch a rant at him. Another thing was that their personal arrangements, otherwise known as dating, weren't a matter of public knowledge.

 

“Unless,” she was looking at him, giving him a probing, inquisitive look. It was a type of look he didn't see on her very often.

 

“Unless what?”

 

Then there was a spark in her eye. She hesitated a couple of moments.

 

“Unless you come with me, and we pick up Scorp and Rose,” she lowered her eyes to his chest. “We go for a walk, go to a groceries store -”

 

She paused, biting her lower lip.

 

“M-hmmm?” he nudged her nose with his. She was beginning to use that heavily scented soap on him. That thing which smelled like her and reminded him of her and the fact that she was something on loan, like a book hidden inside of his inner pocket.

 

“Come back here -” her eyes were looking for that moment when he would pull back. He swallowed. Was she going to suggest what he thought she would? He wasn't going to disagree. No. He was done disagreeing. He could do this. He could –

 

Draco licked his lips. Their eyes were connected in an unspoken understanding. She continued.

 

“- and you lovely lads stay here. For a dinner. And a film. And pancakes tomorrow,” she held her breath, like she could read his thoughts. “For breakfast.”

 

Soapy hands paused on his chest. He removed wet strands of hair from her face.

 

This was it. This was that book he wanted to read, that thing which happened once if you were lucky to stumble upon it, or maybe twice, if you done something to deserve it. He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he could have more of this and less of those times when the cold pillow next to him smelled of her.

 

“I like that plan, Granger,” he made his own voice more confident than he was feeling, but she smiled at him. A big, sappy smile he soaked up with his eyes and lips and his every pore.

 

“Oh,” she breathed against his lips.

 

 “Good,” he said.

 

And then questions started arising in her eyes. Realizations and then more questions and possible answers; because she thought of everything, in every situation, and she made plans and backup plans as well. He loved and hated that because she always had an answer for everything and anything, and mostly, she rarely stopped thinking.

 

“We will have to talk to the kids -”

 

He felt bold and placed his finger on her lips, shushing her.

 

“The kids are going to love it,” he said, meeting a look that prompted discussion which he didn't want to have. Well, not under a shower. “Oh come on. The kids are keeping their fingers crossed for us to -”

 

“I _know_ , Draco,” her eyes were deep and dark, but still warm and promising, full of hopes he didn’t really dare hoping. “That's why this is.... well, serious.”

 

“I am serious,” he said. Just like that. Without doubts. Well, with some doubts, but not about her. Because he _was_ goddamn serious. Because he knew what was at stake. Because Scorpius loved Hermione and he would accept her as a mother with his whole heart. Draco wouldn't toy with that, or with Rose's feelings. Just like he wouldn't toy with his own heart either, or Hermione's. At some point he had become that kind of man.

 

“Are you sure?” she asked and the way she was looking at him told him that she was hopeful, and if she was hopeful then she was ready, willing to dedicate herself to this. And if that was the truth, then there was a chance, there was hope because Hermione Granger was someone who could make things happen. And perhaps, the things she was, the good things, could outnumber his bad things, or cancel them out, or something like that.

 

“I'm very bloody serious,” he said, and it was the truth.

 

“You're not just -” she lowered her eyes. He still wasn't used to a sight of vulnerable Hermione Granger; in his mind she was a powerful being that he learned to count on. She was stronger than most people he knew, far more strong than himself. With a finger under her chin he gently coaxed her to look up at him again. If she wanted him to reassure her, then he would.

 

“Granger. Stop double checking. It's not something I would just... lightly accept. And I won't change my bloody mind.”

 

“Oh. _Oh._ Good.”

 

He might have said that he loved her as well. But he didn't, yet, and she didn't say it either. He _couldn’t_ say it yet. It would probably surface in midst of a fight – they still had plenty of those – when they were both uncensored enough, to actually speak those words. Or, they would find their way to his mouth, eventually, some day. He was aware that he was loved in return, even if he didn't always feel he deserved it. No, he did not deserve it. But he would be stupid to turn it down, to curl himself up in the dark, when she was light, and she was so warm. It would be like denying himself food when he was hungry, even if he did stupider things in the past. 

 

Draco gave her a smirk and poked her shoulder. He needed to hold onto this moment and make it lighter. _Here and now_ , he thought and dropped the weight of his thoughts.

 

“Exactly. Now please, rid me of this soap, or She – Potter will figure us out before we can say _Quiddich_.”

 

 

*

 

The house was filled with nervous kind of energy when Hermione walked inside. It was just the feeling she got when she walked through the door, that something wasn’t right. The noise coming from upstairs told her that children were in their room, playing. Their noises seemed content enough and she assumed that the third occupant of the house was the distressed one.

 

It wasn't usual for Draco to owl her at the Ministry if one of the children had a minor accident. Even his handwriting seemed different, like he had pressed the quill into paper too hard. Hermione found him in his favourite chair in the living room, distractedly staring at the quiet fireplace.

 

“There aren't any hidden curses in there, I assure you,” she joked when he didn't even look up.

 

“Granger,” he greeted, rubbing his eyes. He seemed unusually distressed and far away. She recognized this mood, when he was out of reach and locked away with no one but himself. Hermione knew one thing well, one thing that most people wouldn’t guess about Draco. He was his own hardest judge.

 

“Should I go upstairs and check if everything is okay?” she asked. He looked at her, but didn't answer. It was one of those moments when his thoughts seemed just below the surface, yet untouchable. She could tell that he was debating something with himself; the words to use or perhaps the approach to take, and like every time, that intense look on his face made her feel anxious to know. “What happened?” she asked.

 

“We were at the park,” he resumed looking at the fireplace. The words were coming slow. “They were running around, Rose fell -” he looked at Hermione, slowly getting up and pausing like he was bracing himself for something. “She hit her knee pretty bad. I had dittany with me.”

 

She smiled. It was a little bit ridiculous, because most people, most parents, didn’t walk around with essence of dittany in their pockets. She did, however, and because of her, Draco did as well.

 

“I think we've already agreed that I trust your parenting skills,” she said, coming closer. The smile she offered him didn't meet a reply on his lips, instead he was still serious, still anxious, and his eyes were uncomfortable to look at.

 

“She called me daddy,” he finally said. It fell off his lips like a weight of a stone. Hermione stared back at him, caught by surprise. Not because of what Rose said, because Rose treated him like something hers, someone she loved and accepted. But there was this heartbreaking thing about Draco, despite his confidence and arrogance which propelled him further - it seemed that he simply couldn’t crawl out of his shadows. It seemed that something was always waiting in the background to grab him and pull him back, but she wasn't about to give up on him. She would go back in there and drag him out, because he was worth it. Because she wanted to.

 

“When I got there and -” his eyes were low, like he had done something wrong. “In the park. In front of someone. And -”

 

He stopped and looked away. Oh Draco, she thought, gently taking his face with her fingertips and made him face her again, because she wasn’t going to judge him. Because she wanted him to get rid of the darkness, even if she had to lure him out, bit by bit.

 

“And then?” she asked softly.

 

“I told her we'll fix the knee. And we did. I did.”

 

Hermione took a deep breath. They didn't have _this_ conversation yet, but their children were assuming their parents were an item; a permanent fixture. Hermione took them to daycare, Draco picked them up, or other way around. They had lunches together. They walked together, they played together. If they stayed together over night, the children shared the room. “Draco... why are you upset over this?”

 

“I am not her father,” the air rushed, tight and heavy from his chest. “I might do the everyday things, but I am not -”

 

“Draco, she knows who is her _father_. But you're the one who fixes hurt knees. She trusts you,” Hermione paused, holding his face between her palms and wondering would he ever stop wondering if he met the merit of being worthy. Even if he stood up for himself at other times, this was the area he still felt he needed to defend himself, or rather, defend everyone else from what he used to be. “She – she _loves_ you.”

 

“I'm not Ronald Weasley, Hermione,” he replied quickly, too quickly. “I'm not the war hero. I'm _not_   a person one could be exactly proud of, and I’m not -”

 

She pressed her forehead against his, stopping the definition of what he was not, what he wasn’t allowed to be. “What's going through that blond head of yours?”

 

“Do you want this for your daughter, Granger?” he asked quietly. “Me?”

 

Was it too early, too soon to talk about this? It wasn’t that she couldn’t make a decision on this, she merely wondered if this came up too early. It had been months since their relationship had become public knowledge, but to Hermione the entire journey here had lasted much longer. Perhaps, since the day when he first walked into their office, or since the day when she saw him holding his son. She wasn't the one to rush in, because she liked planning and predictability, but her relationship with Draco had its own course. Combined, they were like a force of nature, which sometimes couldn't be steered. Sometimes they had to adapt instead.

 

“I feel that I should remind you, Draco Malfoy, that I was never good at conforming. And if the memory serves me well, neither were you.”

 

They were staring at one another, and Hermione was half expected him to pull back. Sometimes he still did that, and sometimes, when she deemed it was right, she would leave him be until he decided to unwrap his layers of self defence. Sometimes he would do it without further prompting on her part. It was an uneven pace, a difficult path to thread, but she did.

 

He didn't do it this time, though. He stayed, and she knew another wall was brought down. Her heart  was beating rapidly when she pulled him into a hug.

 

“Listen to me carefully, Draco Malfoy. Very carefully,” her throat was tight, and she felt like her heart had leapt into it and got stuck in there, on its way to burst out. “ _You are good enough for me_. You are a good enough father for my daughter. That is something I am going to decide, and not someone else. I will hex your ass if you continue thinking otherwise.”

 

For couple of moments there was only the sound of breathing. His voice sounded like he had been running when he spoke. Oh, he had ran for miles. Miles and miles until he finally arrived. She felt the tension leave his arms, his body, and she held him until his breathing became a familiar soft hum around her.

 

“Is that so, Granger?” he asked, the voice she knew and learned to love.

 

“I am the brightest witch of our age, Malfoy,” she found a spot to lean her face against, just under his chin. A place just for her. “And a know – it – all. And it means that I am right,” she said, holding him tighter.

 

“Then I have no right to complain?” he asked. She could hear traces of a smile in his voice and knew that he was far from complaining.

 

“None whatsoever,” she said, feeling the steady heartbeat under her cheek.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

 

                                                                            _Hogwarts, September 2 nd, 2021._

_Dear father,_

_I am pleased to inform you that I was chosen as a Prefect this year. I suppose this will alleviate the sore of your eldest being sorted into Hufflepuff house six years ago. I assume Harry still teases you about this, but now you can ask him about a certain map Albus had in his possession. I can tell you that The Headmistress wasn't amused when she confiscated it from him._

_You will be also pleased to learn that Katie was sorted into Slytherin. She did tell me, though, that the Hat contemplated for nearly five minutes if Gryffindor was better suited for her. I suppose you can shout “Finally!” now, while mum rolls her eyes at you. But, think of this. James was in Gryffindor, Rose and Lily are in Gryffindor, I am the Hufflepuff of the family, Katie is in Slytherin and Andrew will most certainly be in Rawenclaw. We've got ourselves the entire set. The Headmistress says that Albus, Lily and myself are a perfect example of house unity until we commit mischief, in which case we're mostly a cause of her many headaches. She says that we can't compare with our parents just yet, but that we are very close. I know you haven't told me everything you were up to while you were at school, and I bet Harry is wisely keeping his own adventures secret  from James and Albus. (And speaking of adventures and achievements, why haven't you told me you were a Prefect? I was stunned to find your photograph in a Book of Prefects. I found mum as well, and mother – it was so lovely seeing her face.)_

_I keep thinking about grandfather. Have you spoken to him lately? I know he won't tell you that he misses Nana, just like he won't tell you that he doesn't like being alone. But he doesn't. I fear he is miserable all alone. Which makes me think of something. If I'm not mistaken I was six or even younger when Nana started insisting that you marry again, am I correct? I remember how upset it made you. I also think I remember us talking about it, and I think I understand now what Nana meant. We watched a documentary film in the Muggle studies class – as we're learning about Muggle sciences, we often watch documentaries, since last school year. Mum would enjoy them, and I think you would as well, no matter you claiming otherwise._

 

_Anyway, I meant to say this. We watched a documentary about a lonely whale today. Did you know that whales sing? At a very specific frequency, so that others of their species can hear them and communicate with them. And they travel the seas in big families of sorts. Years ago Muggle scientists found this particular whale who sang in a frequency different than those of other whales. They haven't found out why, though. And can you guess what happened? That whale – a female – she was lonely. For all of her life. I mean, completely alone in the vast ocean, because no other whale could even hear her. Can you imagine that, being so fundamentally alone? Perhaps Nana feared that you would end up somewhat like this whale. Not that you would be in danger of nobody understanding you, but mum does have a point when she says you have to be convinced to socialize sometimes. What I truly mean to say is that I am glad that you are not alone, and I like to think that I had a role in that story, no matter how small.  Please keep an eye on grandfather. You might have to convince him into socialization, even if it means having tea with you and mum. If anything he and mum can discuss politics and tradition. That's always fun. Then he can proceed to spoil Andrew just like he did with all of us._

_Finally something that might amuse you. It seems that Katie has taken over my trait. I have been looking for her for an hour before I sat down to write this letter. Turns out she was distracted by the library, of all places, and was in there the entire time I was looking for her. I might set up that Lost and Found store you always threatened me with. Do not worry. I will keep an eye on my little sister. I know now how you must have felt when I was small. Rose and Katie say hi to you and mum. We all miss you two, Andrew, grandfather, Harry, Ginny, our funny twin uncles and everyone else._

_Be well, father. Try not to argue with mum too much. Teach Andrew how to fly, okay? I think he's got mum's awful fear of flying, and she always says notihing helps more than facing your own fears. Don't let mum work too hard. The same goes for you as well. I love you both._

_Your son, Scorpius._


End file.
